The dew on campus was moist with retribution. Jacques Peters kneeled on the grass and felt the wetness of the grass between his fingers. “It’s over, I’ve won” Jacques whispered to himself. Jacques’s eyes were firmly fixed on the bottom of the Bartle Library tower by the English department corridor. From fifty feet away, by the location Jacques once said goodbye to Dorothea, Jacques watched the English department office from his pair of military-style binoculars. From that distance, Jacques gazed…..