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352 pages, Paperback
First published September 1, 2009
MY HOUSE WAS right across the road from the hotel, and I heard the shots. At first I thought it was the usual high spirits, the Yanks congratulating themselves all over again. Every damn year since Lee betrayed us all and signed the truce, they got themselves up like peacocks, plumed hats, gold braid, and swords they did not know how to use, and pranced around a meadow for the ladies to admire. Then they would repair to the hotel that I was cursed to live too near and pour whiskey down their gullets all night long. They got so full of themselves, they would sing weepy battle hymns and lie about the glory they had shed. I could hear them perfectly.And so begins this very interesting novel. The shots heard were that of Martha Jane Cairnes shooting Nick McComas in April 1869.
Miss Otis regrets she's unable to lunch today, madam.
And she's sorry to be delayed,
but last evening down at lover's lane
she strayed, madam.
Miss Otis regrets she's unable to lunch today.
When she woke up and found
that her dream of love was gone, madam,
she ran to the man
who had lead her so far astray.
And from under her velvet gown
she drew a gun and shot her lover down, madam.
Miss Otis regrets she's unable to lunch today.
When the mob came and got her
and dragged her from the jail, madam,
they strung her up
on the willow across the way.
And the moment before she died
she lifted up her lovely head and cried, madam.
Miss Otis regrets she's unable to lunch.