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By Quinn Wilde

Quinn Wilde spends a formative yr learning on the college of St. Andrews, Scotland, and dwelling in Fife Park, the most affordable scholar place of dwelling within the united kingdom. alongside the way in which, there are errors and fake pas, damages and destruction, passions and revelations, longing and belonging, love, secret, tragedy, recognize, and only a tiny bit of intercourse.

"One of the simplest home-grown comedies of this 12 months, a true campus-themed gem."

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"A strangely compelling novella, which I chewed via in one laugh-out-loud sitting."

"If you have been to college, and do not know half this e-book, then you definitely have not quite been to University."

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Craig doesn’t think this book tells the truth. ‘It’s all down to interpretation,’ he says. He must be right, because I think it does. Raspberry Canes, Nineteen Eighty-Six. You maybe think I’m a miserable person already, because of how I introduced myself. I’m actually kind of fun most of the time. At least, I hope so. Regardless, I’m pretty easy to entertain. And if the last couple of thousand words haven’t clued you in already, I’m pretty easily distracted, as well. For example, I’m going to talk about something that happened over twenty years ago in this chapter, which even the most patient of us would admit is almost completely unnecessary.

I don’t sleep so well, either. ’ ‘OK,’ I said. But I didn’t mean it, at least not right then. You can’t call someone at five in the morning on the off chance they’re still awake. Darcy put the tea down, and brought over a plate with biscuits on. I had forgotten that Darcy knew me well enough. But she’d been with us, ostensibly one of our group, for most of the first year. She had been Craig’s girlfriend, after all. I still felt like she was a stranger. ‘I feel like we’ve hardly talked for ages,’ Darcy said.

In fact, I skipped the facade entirely – I was being a straight-up asshole, with no subterfuge. It was an emotional time, and I handled it with my usual aplomb. But I’ll get to that. Guilty as charged on most of the other stuff, as well. The clothes, for example. I was going through kind of a flamboyant phase that I’d nurtured during first year. It wasn’t about fitting in with any social group, or any style as such. I didn’t ascribe to any ethos regarding dress sense or personal politics, and if I’m honest it’s probably because I didn’t really know how.

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