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book, cloth napkins, and the framed photograph of Samuel on the unfinished porch.
When we arrived, I put his picture in the center of the dining table.
Ernestine touched the frame with one finger.
“He looks like a man who knew how to love,” she said.
“He did,” I said. “Exactly that.”
That first night none of us spoke much.
We sat on the porch in rocking continue reading …
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