The Wistful Throne
I Tariq Mahfouz, thirty-two, clerk to the tenure committee, held the rusted iron key in his hand as if it were a bone he had pulled from a dead dog. The key was not for a gate, but for the filing cabinet in the basement where the university kept the records of its dead departments, and the air in the workshop loft above the press was thick with the dust of paper that no one would ever read....
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