The Distant Garden
Soledad Zepeda was already three steps into the Ministry of Agrarian Corrections when the red clay floor beneath her heels began to pulse, a wet, rhythmic thud that matched the frantic beating of her own heart, which she had been counting since the pawnshop counter at sixty-three of Widow's Landing, where the landlord had demanded the deed by sundown or the foreclosure notice would be served...
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