The Oak at Beauregard
I The rain fell on the Beauregard plantation like it always had—relentlessly, without asking permission. It fell on the rotting porch where Thomas Beauregard sat with a cup of coffee that had gone cold an hour ago. It fell on the oak tree in the center of the yard, the one that had been a sapling when his grandfather built this house and was now wide enough that four men could not join hands...
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