The Distant Affair
Chapter One Ryszard Krawczyk, a clerk of thirty-two years, woke with the taste of iron on his tongue. The black dog was there, sitting on the foot of the bed, its eyes the dull, flat brown of river mud. It did not bark. It spoke in the voice of my father, a voice I had not heard since the funeral, and it commanded me to stop the coughing, to stop the bleeding, to pay the debt. I woke, and the...
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