The Distant Joke

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2026-08-24 09:10:30 -

The Distant Joke

The banquet hall smelled of roasted lamb and old paper, a scent that Elias Thorne had come to associate with the rot of his own ambitions. He sat at the head of the long oak table, his fifty-two-year-old face illuminated by the flickering gaslight, while the faculty of the university murmured around him in polite, expectant silence. In front of him lay the manuscript of his late mentor, Arthur...

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