ST. ANDREWS, Scotland -- We are the ghosts of St. Andrews. We were born here, yes, and we traveled distances great and small, searching. We are the living and the dead, anyone moved to leave something of themselves behind, from a beheaded queen to a golden-haired Bear. We won here as a young amateur and returned a crippled old man, washed in something that passing decades could not fade. We once walked with Jesus.
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