Rain came on Sunday and by Thursday Pootie’s yard was underwater.
On Friday, the river spilled and she was calling for help. Nobody came and
pretty soon she was counting water moccasins from the window, all looking for
high ground. Saturday, they found their way up the steps and under the back
door and in ten minutes she shot up all her bullets. She was up on the table
swatting at snakes with a broom when Burl knocked on the window from his boat.
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