The Cat of Dvorak Manor
The humidity in southern Mississippi did not merely exist—it occupied. It moved into your lungs and made itself at home, bringing with it the smell of rotting wood, blooming magnolias, and something older, something that had been decaying since the war ended and the plantations began to crumble like teeth in a dead man's mouth. Silas Bates was sixty-eight years old and had been blind for forty...
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