The Oak and the Rot
The Oak and the Rot The house smelled like June—a thick, humid scent of magnolia and damp earth and something older, something that predated the magnolias and the earth and had been in the ground long before anyone thought to plant a garden on it. Clementine Calloway stood on the porch and breathed it in the way you breathe in poison—because it's beautiful and you know you should stop but you...
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