” “Well, you see, something has happened at home. The day was unseasonably humid and dark, a thick fog having descended over manicured lawns. I know my son's voice too well. There are sentimental and traditional deferences and reverences, I know, between father and son; but that’s just exactly what prevents the development of an easy friendship. The blood will rest on your head. The pavement had been hastily picked up, and heaped across the end of the street, upon which planks, barrels, and other barricades, were laid. “I’ve tried to make words tell it.
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