The Distant Joke
The candle in the iron sconce sputtered. “Is it true?” asked the Warden. His voice was dry. Like sand on stone. Thomas Bradshaw stood before him. The floor was cold. He felt it through the soles of his boots. The room was large. The vaulted ceiling disappeared into shadow. “It is true,” Thomas said. He kept his head low. The Warden was a small man. He wore robes of deep violet. They hung heavy....
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