Wildalone - Pg 126

   It was always Princeton's arches that took the breath away. A world of fuss left behind. Ahead--distant lattice windows, a tree, perhaps a patch of sky. But in between, you felt on the cusp of miracles. The low ceiling would close overhead, ready to keep your secrets. Feeble light would stretch your shadow across the walls. Your steps would turn into music. And for a few seconds, as you made your way down the eerie passageway, there would be only you and the stone. Nothing else.