Another Time on the Mississippi
The house smelled of mildew and memory, the kind of smell that settles into wood and fabric and never really leaves, no matter how many times you scrub and bleach and hope. Seraphina Durand had spent her entire nineteen years in this house, a crumbling plantation on the banks of the Mississippi River in southern Mississippi, and she knew every creak of its floorboards, every draft through its...
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