The Warehouse of Lost Things
The Beauregard place sat on a rise above the Pearl River like a body that had been buried and partially dug up, the wood grey and peeling, the porch sagging to one side as though the house itself could not quite decide whether it wanted to fall down or stand up. Silas Beauregard stood on that porch in the humid Louisiana air and looked at the six Angus cattle grazing in the field behind the...
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