The Distant Joke

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2026-08-18 21:35:32 -

The Distant Joke

The rain did not fall so much as it hung in the air, a fine, cold mist that settled into the wool of Arthur Penhaligon’s coat and the leather of his satchel. He walked the blacktop road that cut through the pine forests of the Pacific Northwest, the year 1912 stretching out before him like a long, gray ribbon. In his pocket, his hand rested on the small, glass vial he had carried for three...

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