The Fox and the Decaying House
I. The heat in the Mississippi Delta was not like heat anywhere else. It pressed down on you like a hand on the back of your neck, heavy and persistent and unwilling to let go. Silas Whitmore felt it every morning when he woke on the porch of a house that had once been the center of a world that no longer existed. The plantation had been three hundred acres at its peak. Cotton, white as snow...
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