The Distant Joke

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2026-08-18 16:11:11 -

The Distant Joke

The rain did not fall so much as it settled, a grey, industrial mist that clung to the brickwork of the manor house like a shroud. I sat in the corner of the Grand Hall, my hands wrapped around a cup of tea that had long since gone cold. The porcelain was thin, Chines, imported before the war, and the chipped rim bit into my lower lip. It tasted of copper and old regrets. Outside, the...

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