The Distant Joke
The river that cuts through the town of Harrow’s End does not run so much as it waits, a long, pale eye staring up at the grey sky, holding in its stillness the memory of every stone that has ever fallen into it, a silence so deep and so absolute that it seems to swallow the sound of our own breathing, a natural monument to the idea that some things are too heavy for the current to carry, too...
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