The Wistful Campus
"Did you see the memo, Arthur? The one pinned to the board by the chapel?" Arthur Penhaligon looked up from the ledger he was balancing, the smell of damp wool and old paper thick in the air of the archive room, where the November wind rattled the high, narrow windows and sent a grey shiver across the floorboards. He was thirty-two years old, a junior archivist at St. Jude’s College, a place so...
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