“And as for praying for faith—this sort of monologue is about as near as any one of my sort ever gets to prayer. The doctor walked over to the bed, folded his arms across his chest and stared down into the unabashed eyes of his patient. “I may not see the Widgetts for some little time, father,” she said. “Get you a cold one?” “No thanks. John introduced the tall boy. But it strikes me there's a nigger in the woodpile somewhere, as you Yankees say.
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