The marshes of southern Louisiana do not forgive. They take what they want and give back nothing but the memory of what they took.
Thomas Beauregard II returned to the bayou on a Tuesday in late September, when the air was thick enough to chew and the mosquitoes were the size of quarter dollars. His family's plantation had been burning for three days before he got back. He saw the smoke from the road, a thin black column rising above the cypress trees, and he knew before his horse carried him to the gate that everything...
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