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25 from somEPLaCE Dreams are sometimes livable, provided there is property enough, and each house in Buxton had a little plot of land. All the town’s employees had a garden, and black folks grew theirs right among the whites’. A Negro could make a life in Buxton, and Great-grandfather, the village’s best blacksmith, did. His daughter was free to pass any old place. This is the youth you knew, and why you knew, years, miles later, you’d leave the blackening mill town of your marriage. You found a town with promise, moved your sons to its white district, wouldn’t let them swim in the mud hole they called the colored pool. ...

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