The spring of 1924 arrived in Long Island with a violence that surprised even the old trees. Nich...
It was a fox, technically. But to call it merely a fox was like calling the ocean merely water. This creature moved with a purpose that transcended the ordinary instincts of its kind. Its fur was the colour of honey caught in late afternoon light, and when it turned its head, Nicholas caught the flash of eyes that were dark and intelligent and old. He had been tracking it for six days. Six days...
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