The Distant Affair
The deed is signed, Elias, and if you do not match your signature to mine by Friday, you will be sleeping in the holler with the rest of the dead. Silas stood by the window, his back rigid, the afternoon light catching the dust motes that swirled in the stagnant air of the parlor. The smell of wet rot hung heavy in the room, a thick, fungal odor that coated the back of the throat and settled...
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