The Crystallization of Silas Faulkner
He had been a liquid man for sixty-two years. That was the phrase that came to him, standing at the study window as the Ashley River ate the last of the lower terrace, a phrase from a chemistry textbook he had read at nineteen and never forgotten: a liquid takes the shape of its container. He had been a liquid, taking the shape of his father's expectations, of his grandfather's debts, of the...
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