Blood of the Estate
The house was dying. I know this because I could feel it in my teeth—a vibration so low and so deep that it registered only as a pressure, like being at the bottom of a well. I stood on the veranda of Vaughn Hall, the great estate my family had owned since 1798, and watched the sunset bleed across the Mississippi delta sky. The cotton fields below were brown and dead—the off season, which meant...
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