It's late, past midnight, and Alcuin's nightmares have driven him out of bed, wandering the corridors with the lazy curiosity of the insomniac, half asleep and looking for something to distract him from his troubles. He stops in the library, having gravitated there without realizing it. The library reminds him of Delaunay--books, languages,
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"Do you often play in the middle of the night, sir?" she asks softly (for who cares for propriety in the middle of the night?).
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