It was as if her finite human brain could only store a limit of information, details like hair color and fingernail shape easily jettisoned to make room for the nuances of a grin or the emotion of a shoulder blade. There was only one prisoner in the ward. Anna glanced into her sister’s face, and rose to her feet. The silence of Canton at night was sinister, for none could prophesy what form of mob might suddenly boil out. Did he talk a little when you took him into the city?" "No. He would see this sister. They were bickering, she could tell by the way the mother threw her fat arms into the air and paced restlessly about the tiny clapboard house.
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