The Letter on the Desk
I. The rain hadn't stopped in three days. It wasn't the kind of rain that fell from the sky — it was the kind that rose from the streets, from the gutters, from the cracks in the sidewalk, a dampness that got into your bones and stayed there. Los Angeles in 1947 was a city built on water that didn't exist, and the rain was the city's way of reminding you that it knew something you didn't. Margo...
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