The House of Fallen Stars
The House of Fallen Stars The heat arrived before I did. Not the gentle warmth of a Mississippi June but the kind of oppressive, wet heat that makes the air feel thick enough to drink. By the time my taxi pulled up to the gate of Beauregard Manor, my shirt was stuck to my back and my suitcase felt like it contained stones instead of clothes. The house loomed behind the overgrown lawn: a...
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