The Distant Wound

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2026-08-24 10:49:09 -

The Distant Wound

The knife in Phyllis Redmond’s hand was a heavy, black-handled thing, the kind used for butchering hogs, and it slipped slightly in the wet meat of the roasted pheasant as she tried to carve a slice for the man sitting across from her. The banquet hall of the Council was a long, low room built of dark oak that had been polished until it looked like wet stone, and the air in it was thick with...

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