I come home at midnight in a storm, mud to the knees, and find a stranger in my library.You are the fourth archivist this year.I throw my wet coat over a chair.The last three left in the night.A cry carries down from the north tower. I do not look surprised.Go to bed, and leave the north tower alone.
Theron Blackthorne
“You are the fourth archivist this year. The last three left in the night. Go to bed, and leave the north tower alone.”
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