The Distant Joke

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2026-08-19 11:06:39 -

The Distant Joke

The fire in the hearth of the Ashworth estate had burned down to a bed of white ash, yet the air in the great hall still smelled of roasting pheasant and spilled wine. It was a smell that clung to the wool of one’s coat and the skin of one’s neck, a physical evidence of the feast that had just concluded. Thomas Ashworth sat alone in the center of the room, his back against the cold stone of the...

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