The Distant Joke

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2026-08-23 18:14:24 -

The Distant Joke

The wool was damp, cold against your palms, and the smell of lanolin was sharp enough to sting the back of your throat. You held the skein up to the light filtering through the high, arched windows of the Guild Hall, checking for knots, for weak spots in the fiber. It was a good piece of wool, heavy and dense, bought at a price that had bled the last of your savings dry. You were thirty-two...

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