The Marsh Saint of Blackwater Bayou
The first one to wear cotton in June was old man Baptiste, and he came to Dr. Beauregard Thibodeaux's porch at dawn, shivering so hard his teeth clicked like a rooster's beak. It was ninety degrees in the shade, the kind of Louisiana heat that makes the air feel like wet wool pressed against your face, and Baptiste was wrapped in a gray wool coat that had belonged to his grandfather. His lips...
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