The Quest of Broken Ground
The bayou did not want Eulalie DuPre there. She could feel it in the way the Spanish moss hung like white hair over the entrance road, in the way the cypress knees protruded from the water like arthritic fingers, in the way the air smelled of decay and jasmine intertwined so completely that she could not tell which was which. DuPre Manor rose from the marsh like a drowned thing that had learned...
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