The Wistful Campus

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2026-08-24 16:01:32 -

The dream is always the same, a suffocating haze of green and brown where the oak tree I once tended in the trenches of the Somme stands withered, its branches stripped bare by a wind that never ceases, and I wake in the narrow bed of my lodgings on the Strand with the taste of ash in my mouth and the date October 14, 1893, scrawled in the margin of my ledger, a reminder that I have only two...

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