The Rot in the Red Clay
The land on the Mississippi had been good to the Beauregard family for four generations, and Eustace Beauregard loved it with the desperate, clinging love of a man who knows he is running out of time. It was the spring of 1850, and Louisiana was a fever-dream of cotton and sugar, of old money and new hands and the terrible tension building in the air like heat before a thunderstorm. The...
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