The Two-Dimensional Elegy
The Beauregard estate sat on a hill that overlooked the Mississippi River, and from the veranda you could see the river bend like a sleeping snake, silver in the moonlight, brown in the afternoon sun, invisible at night when the fog rolled in from the delta and swallowed everything within a hundred yards. Corinne Beauregard had lived on this hill her entire thirty-four years, and she knew every...
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