The house sat on the edge of Blackwater Swamp like a woman who had stopped fighting the water and simply accepted that it would eventually take her.
Jinruo Liang stood at the edge of the dirt road and looked at it through the humidity, which was so thick you could taste it—copper and mud and the sweet rot of cypress leaves that had fallen into the black water and been digesting for weeks. She had not been to Louisiana in twenty years. Twenty years was long enough for a child to forget the sound of her grandmother's voice, long enough for a...
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