Embers of the South
I The heat in August on the Mississippi delta does not merely sit upon you. It presses down like a thumb on a wound, slow and insistent, the way memory presses. Beau LeClaire came back to Thornweald with a suitcase that had belonged to his father and a suit that had belonged to a man who died at twenty-six, the age Beau himself now had occupied for the first half of his twenty-eighth year. The...
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