THE ASHWORTH RECKONING
The rain in New Orleans did not cleanse; it sealed. A humidity so thick it felt like breathing through wet wool, and Edward Ashworth walked through it like a man already drowning. His shoes were rubber-soled and bought from a military surplus store in Manaus. His shirt was cotton and faded to the color of weak tea. He carried nothing but a leather valise containing three changes of underwear, a...
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