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When G. Brandon Sisnett dies at his computer, “a mild spring day in March,” he leaves behind two unfinished works in his Montreal home.One, a political tract typical of the kind of rant the reclusive writer was famous for, the other an unexpected box of short fiction none of his publishers was aware existed. It soon becomes clear the stories contain a myster surrounding the sad death of the Barbadian-born author’s four-year-old daughter, his retreat from society, and the recurring name of “Fairfield.”

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