Three Sinkings, or the Geometry of Collapse
The first sinking was a room. I was seventeen years old, and my bedroom was on the east side of Beaumont Manor, the side that faced the bayou and the dying cypress and the abandoned cane fields where the ground had begun to open in sinkholes the size of kitchen tables. My room had been my mother's room when she was a girl, and her mother's before that, going back in a line of Beaumont daughters...
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