The Pale Circus
Chapter One Who keeps the score when the house burns down? I ask this because the silence in the conventillo is heavy, and the swallows under the eaves are beating their wings against the damp brick, a sound like wet paper tearing. I am Dolores Fuentes, forty-two years old, and I am the scribe for the Pale Circus, a troupe that travels not by road but by rumor, arriving in the flood-prone...
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