The mineral sat in Bill Harlan's kitchen window, catching the morning light like a piece of broken g
The mineral sat in Bill Harlan's kitchen window, catching the morning light like a piece of broken glass. It was small—no bigger than a walnut—and ugly as sin, but Bill had seen the report from the university lab, and he knew what it meant. His daughter Maggie was lying on the couch in the other room, her breathing shallow and uneven. The specialist in Pittsburgh had used words like...
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