The Fall of White Chalk
I The heat in the valley did not lift in July. It sat on the land like a hand, heavy and patient, pressing the cotton flat, baking the clay roads to the hardness of broken pottery. White Chalk Manor stood at the end of a quarter-mile of gravel drive, its white columns gleaming in a light so bright it made the eyes water. Miss Letty Hadderack stood on the front porch and watched the heat shimmer...
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