The Distant Joke
The pocket watch lies open on the mahogany table, its face cracked like a frozen pond, the glass spider-webbed from the center where the second hand has stopped. Elias Thorne stares at the fracture, his thumb resting on the cold metal casing, feeling the vibration of the room before he sees the light change. It is late, the gas lamps in the office flickering with a low, oily hum that masks the...
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