The Eyes of Augustus Beauregard
Louisiana, 1893 The house smelled of magnolia and decay. Augustus Beauregard stood in the doorway of the main hall and let the humid Louisiana air wash over him, carrying the scent of wet earth and dying flowers and something else—something darker, older, that had seeped into the floorboards and the walls and the very foundation of the Beauregard estate over a hundred and thirty years of...
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