The Distant Joke
The Distant Joke The rain in Kensington didn't fall so much as hover, a suspension of fine droplets that turned the gas lamps into watery halos. Eleanor Vane stood at the window of her second-floor flat on Ledbury Road, watching the evening bleed into the cobblestones. At thirty-four, she had learned to read the London sky like most people read faces — with a mixture of resignation and quiet...
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