The Last Dance at the Halo
The spring wind off Long Island sounded like music played in another room—distant, indistinct, the ghost of a jazz band that had stopped playing years ago. Evelyn Cross stood at the gate of the Stirling estate and listened to it, feeling the way the sound moved through her like a memory she could not quite place. The house was everything she had imagined a rich person's house would be: large,...
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