The Echo of a Chalk-Dust Soul
I returned to the valley in the autumn of my fiftieth year, carrying a medical bag and a heart full of ghosts. The old plantation house, once the pride of the county, was now a skeletal ruin, its white pillars leaning like tired old men against a bruised purple sky. I walked toward the small, weather-beaten shack at the edge of the property. It was there, forty years ago, that I had met Clara....
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