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384 pages, Paperback
First published August 10, 2009
Yes, he was a miner, and was raised by woodsmen, protestant Protestants who had an ax-handle way of dealing with problems, to whom morality was not much more than fierce, communal bigotry, and who taught him to respect pain and avoid punishment and seek solace through physical exhaustion, and that any solace he might find even in that was was to be ashamed of because it indicated weakness—people who would never realize that difficulties were anything more than hunger, cold, and sprained muscles.
Isn't that about all that goes on over there anyway? C and his brother sitting around with the rest of the town gossiping, while the rest of his family goes mad?
Fisher looked up to the third floor of the house, hoping to see The Baron staring out of a window, wrenching against his chains. Then he said goodbye to Glove and began walking home. Had Fisher been older, he might have wondered why several years ago half of Ontarion seemed to live at Easter's Yard, spending days and nights inside the giant house and out into the Yard—why in the summer full-grown men, without drinking or playing cards, would gather at Easter's Yard and watch the colored time move through the afternoons. He might have wondered why today no one went there—why even though the Easters and the other three men there were "good people," as his father called them, no one would go there...except at night. He might have wondered what The Associate was—what it had been and what it was now. But if Fisher had been older, he would have known these things. He might then have wondered about the killing and the money.
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