The House of Crooked Timber
The house on Rue de l'Eau sat on a bluff above the bayou and slowly fell into the bayou, inch by inch, year by year, as if the earth beneath it had decided that it had carried enough. The foundation was rotting. The wooden pillars that propped up the wraparound porch were eaten through with termites. The roof leaked in seventeen places, and Madame Beauregard had once told Beatrice to catch the...
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