The Distant Joke
The rain fell on the cobblestones of the district with a rhythm that sounded like distant applause, a slow, wet clapping that echoed off the high, soot-stained brickwork of the old university halls. Elias Thorne stood in the doorway of the library, his collar turned up against the damp chill, holding a single object in his gloved hand. It was a silver pocket watch, its casing dented and...
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