The Beauregard Tarn

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2026-05-29 01:17:10 -

I. The house smelled of wet wood and old money, which in Mississippi is basically the same thing. Cassius Beauregard stood on the porch of the family estate, watching rain fall on cotton fields that hadn't produced a profitable crop in forty years. The house behind him was a Georgian relic—white columns peeling like sunburnt skin, a wraparound veranda sagging under the weight of a century and a...

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