"I know," my father said, when I told him what Mrs. Thorne had proposed. "I know
"It sounds like desperation." "Is there another?" I thought about Eulalie, my sister, twenty-three years old and gone with a piano salesman who probably did not even own a piano. I thought about the last of our cotton bales, sold six months ago for a price that would barely cover the interest on our debts. I thought about the way the house groaned in the wind, every beam and joist protesting...
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