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When Jim and I saw the round red target staring up through its cellophane wrapper, we snatched the package and scampered up the attic stairs. I never imagined the cigarettes belonged to anyone. I thought they were left behind and long since forgotten . . . Before World War II, at big family gatherings in the country, I found glory in acting big, romping with my brother and cousin, challenging a banty rooster, braving a treacherous bridge, taming a wild kitten,... More >>
She Ate the Neck of the Chicken
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