The Shadow Substitute
The fox lay dead on the gravel path, its pale belly rising and falling once, twice, then still. Margaret had said to do it. She had stood in the kitchen doorway, her hands folded in her apron, and said, It is only right, Edward. It stole from us. It will steal again. And so Edward had raised the rifle, aimed carefully, and ended it. The fox was heavy with young. He had seen that too, in the way...
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