The Distant Joke
The train groaned as it clawed its way up the jagged spine of the Appalachian ridge, a metallic beast dragging a chain of rusted and rain-slicked coaches through a twilight that had long since bled into the absolute black of a November night, while inside Car Four, Elias Thorne sat rigid against the window, his spine a column of vertebrae pressing against the cold glass, watching the trees blur...
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