The heat in the bayou does not come from the sun.
Madeleine had been weaker for months. He had not intended it to go this far. The poison, when he had first acquired it from a trader in New Orleans who spoke in a language Ezekiel did not understand, had seemed simple enough. A powder, colourless, tasteless, to be mixed into her evening soup. The man had warned him: this is not ordinary poison. It works slowly. It works from the inside. And it...
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