The Distant Joke
The dog snaps at your ankle before you have even cleared the threshold of the bakery. It is a stray, mangy and yellow-eyed, and it does not growl so much as bite, a quick, vicious tear that draws a bead of blood from your shin. You kick it away, a clumsy, undignified thing to do for a man in a clerical uniform, but the pain is sharp and immediate, a warning that the town’s rigid order is...
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