flood did not come slowly. It came all at once, like a verdict.
One moment, the train was rolling through the flat, green cotton fields of the lower Mississippi Valley, and the next moment the tracks were gone, swallowed by water that rose from the riverbank with the speed and certainty of a thing that has been waiting for exactly this moment for a hundred and fifty years. Clara Mae Beaumont stood at the window of the third car and watched the water climb...
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