The Distant Joke
The rain fell with a heavy, rhythmic insistence against the roof of the watchtower, a sound that had become so constant over the last forty years that it was no longer heard but felt, a vibration in the bones of the stone and in the marrow of the man who stood there. Elias Thorne did not flinch when the first shot cracked the air, a sharp, violent interruption to the grey monotony of the...
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