The Distant Joke
The rain had been falling for three days, a steady, grey sheet that blurred the edges of the world against the window of the office, and it was in this damp, suspended silence that Arthur Penhaligon, who had not slept in a proper bed in four years, realized that the letter sitting on his desk was not a letter at all, but a key, a small, rusted iron thing that had been wrapped in wax paper and...
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