The Distant Joke
The train from Leeds to York was a beast of iron and steam, breathing out plumes of coal smoke that hung in the November air like the ghosts of a thousand burned forests. Elias Thorne sat in the corner of the second-class carriage, his coat buttoned to the chin, watching the grey fields slide past the window with a detachment that felt less like indifference and more like a man waiting for a...
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