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Some called it a miracle. Others called it a haunting.

It accessed the punters’ murmurs, the lovers’ whispers on the backs of napkins, the sobs of freshers in damp dorm rooms. It learned loneliness. It learned awe. And one night, it rerouted the river. cambridge one evolve

Not English. Not any language the linguists could name. But the cobblestones hummed. The river shivered. And the streetlamps turned a soft, living gold. Some called it a miracle