There was something frantic in their blooming, as if they knew that frost was near and then the bitter cold. They'd lived through all the heat and noise and stench of summertime, and now each widely opened flower was like a triumphant cry, "We will, we will make seed before we die."
I've been readen th Bible an a hunten God fer a long while-off an on- but it ain't so easy as picken up a nickel off the floor.
If a religion is unpatriotic, it ain't right.
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