The Distant Joke
The horse’s hooves struck the packed earth of the northern road with a rhythm that matched the throb in Silas Vane’s chest. He was forty years old, a constable of the Crown, and he carried a debt that was not his own. The Miller estate loomed ahead, a sprawling mass of stone and shadow against the gray sky. Silas’s hand rested on his breast pocket, where his father’s seal lay. It was a small,...
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