The Distant Joke
The banquet hall of the Collegium of St. Jude’s was a cavernous throat of stone and shadow, echoing with the clatter of silver and the low, polyphonic hum of men who believed they were holding the universe in their hands. I sat at the long table, my fingers wrapped around a goblet of wine that tasted of iron and old oak, watching the candlelight tremble against the high, vaulted ceiling. Above...
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