The Golden Mirror
Ondine Dugas had worked for thirty-two years in the shadow of the bayou, and she knew the weight of a sack of flour better than the weight of a man’s word. The rain was slicking the gravel outside the precinct, a cold, January thaw that tricked the orchards into thinking spring had come, but the mud was still hard as iron under her boots. She packed her desk with the mechanical precision of a...
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