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44   Dismissal The spring I left my husband, Mother dismissed my father, parked his boat in the drive, loaded it with packrat plunder: boxes of pamphlets, buttons, books, bumper stickers all lauding George Wallace and John Birch, fishing rods, reels, shotguns, hunting coats, Red Wing boots, the stiff starched shirts and sharp creased pants he demanded, the black book he believed secret, dismembered and scattered over the mess, his Ku Klux Klan hood perched like a jaunty cap on the motor. Locks changed, doors barred, she ignored his outraged pounding, drowned out by Marty Robbins on the stereo, watched the boat trailer bounce on the gravel road, strewing dusty propaganda in its wake. ...


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