The Distant Joke

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2026-08-19 20:17:47 -

The Distant Joke

The fog sat heavy on the Thames, a gray wool blanket smothering the city. I walked the embankment. The stones were wet. Cold seeped into my boots. I was leaving. The order had come down. My commission was revoked. Not for cowardice. Not for incompetence. For sedition. They said I had whispered to the workers. I had said nothing. I had only listened. I carried a leather satchel. Inside, a single...

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