Fiction | December 01, 1998
Winner of the 1997 Editors’ Prize for Fiction.
This story is available via the PDF link below.
In the twentieth century I believe there are no saints left, but our farm on Boght Road had not yet entered the twentieth century. At that time, around 1908 it would be, I had a secret I could tell to no one, least of all a saint or an arsenic eater.
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