The Distant Joke
The bell tower of St. Jude’s stood like a broken tooth against the grey sky, its stone face pitted by centuries of wind and rain. Inside the churchyard, where the yew trees grew thick and dark, the air tasted of wet earth and decay. Silas Vane sat in the shadow of the nave, his back pressed against the cold masonry. He was a man of the old order, a wandering inquisitor of the faith, though the...
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