Rock Island Line. David Rhodes
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Simply, he was one of us, and like us all, in his own way. Only a little more confident, perhaps, because of the great faith he had in his parents and their ability to manage all parts of his life that were out of his own control, allowing him to be very open and personable and radiate good humor and be obstinate.
He’d never known his grandfather except from what his parents told him, and Della (who, though she did not talk about him constantly, always said we; we did this or went over there, or we thought that was funny. This we, his mother explained to him later, was completed by the no-longer-present figure of his grandfather, a living, breathing person who was dead. The bodies of the dead went back to the ground. The living got old, and when they were finished, they were dead. His grandmother, he was told, was getting old).
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