The Garden Within
The garden was too beautiful. That was the first thing Cecilia Winterbourne thought, and it was the thought that began the unraveling. She stood at the iron gate of Ashcombe Manor—Ashcombe, her inheritance, Ashcombe, her prison—and looked at the garden that had no business being so beautiful in the middle of November. The roses were in bloom. Not the pale, pitiful things that clung to life in...
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