The Distant Joke
The great hall of the Abbey of Saint Jude was not a place for silence, but for the roar of the living, a cacophony of clinking silver, the heavy thud of roasted pork against stone, and the wet, gurgling sounds of men who had forgotten the weight of their own souls in favor of the warmth of ale, a sensory assault that struck me like a physical blow, yet I remained seated at the edge of the long...
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