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Flood 47 Threshold They were determined to have their New Year’s Eve party at home, hell and high water having already come. “Bring a chair,” they told friends, since they hadn’t moved in yet. The empty house was beautiful: new walls, bare floors shining, card table in the kitchen, lit by a hurricane lamp. “How high did it get, Bob?” Wallace asked, his hill house having stayed dry. Daddy put his hand above the kitchen radiator. “Up to here. That’s the magic line.” A chorus of “Yes sir, the magic line,” and “It got higher than that in my house.” Come midnight, this crew found the usual toast not enough. Out the front door they went, to stand around the McPherons’ blue spruce, its deep boughs 48 Flood threaded with colored light. Hands linked, they sang, “We’ll take a cup o’ kindness yet,” then went back in and did. ...

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