I first met the Scarred Man in November of 1927, in a swamp outside of Lafayette, Louisiana.
I was Arthur Pendleton, twenty-four years old, freshly graduated from Harvard with a degree in natural history and a profound ignorance about the things that actually mattered. I had come to the bayou to collect specimens—frogs, insects, the occasional alligator for the Museum of Natural History. I was not prepared for what I found. The locals spoke of it in hushed voices, the way they speak of...
0 Commentarii 0 Distribuiri 2 Views 0 previzualizare