The Distant Joke
The ale was thick, dark as the soil of the graveyard, and it tasted of iron and regret. "Do you believe it, brother?" asked Thomas, his voice a low rasp that seemed to scrape against the rough wood of the table. He leaned forward, his eyes bright with a feverish intensity that belied his gaunt frame. "They say the King’s men are coming. They say he has found a cure. A tincture made from the...
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