The Distant Affair
The tin was heavy, a dull brass cylinder worn smooth by fifteen years of thumbs, and Elias Thorne held it in both hands as if it were the only solid thing in a room that had begun to vibrate. He stood at the edge of the banquet table, a city sanitation officer with twenty years of service and a pension that barely covered the heating, watching the champagne in his glass ripple in concentric...
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