The Golden Song
I have been told I am a witness, though I have not spoken a word. My name, Carmela Vitale, appears in the ledger of the toll house, one hundred and nine of Gallows Corner, written in ink that has faded to the color of dried blood. I am fifty-two. My hands are steady now, but they were not then. I remember the greenish light before the hailstorm, the way it turned the vine slopes above the...
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