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74 Circle The torches dance in a circle round the only electric light in this wayside avenue. Hear the horses snorting, feel the thump in my heart and my Mama holding me and saying, “Never mind, girl, they just making circles around that lamp post, and that’s their right, ’cause it’s their lamp post, it’s their electricity, not ours.” And when my chest would feel like it would burst from the sobbing, she’d just smile and say, “Your great-grand uncle was a white soldier, a captain, too and they named this road for him and his kin; they know it, they can see it in your skin, don’t fret.” And I would calm me down dreaming of my ancestor, riding hard with saber drawn after the men in their sheets and their flaming torches circling the lamp-post. ...


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