The Gardens of Harrowgate
The Gardens of Harrowgate The cypress trees stood like sentinels at the edge of the property, their roots submerged in black water that smelled of jasmine and decay. Clara Beaumont sat in the back seat of the rental car and watched them pass, her fingers pressed against the window, feeling the humidity seep through the glass like a promise she was not sure she wanted kept. Mr. Thorne had met...
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