The Revelation
The Revelation The oak tree had been there longer than anyone in town could remember. It stood at the edge of Silas Winslow's property, a massive thing whose branches spread wide enough to shade the folding table he set up beneath it every Thursday and Saturday. The table was plain pine, scarred by decades of use, and on it lay a Bible—thick, leather-bound, its pages yellowed with age—and a...
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