The Distant Affair
The feast was a roar. It shook the rafters of the old infirmary, a place built of stone that remembered the plague. The tables groaned under the weight of roasted meat and heavy bread. Wine spilled, red and dark, staining the white tablecloths like old bruises. In the corner, near the cold hearth, sat Thomas. He was young. Barely fourteen. His eyes were wide. They did not drink. He did not eat....
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