Bloody to the elbows from gutting it, sweat pouring down his joy-reddened face, stripped down to his long-john top despite the twenty-degree cold, he had dragged the deer down from the top of Widdershins where he’d shot it three hours earlier.
Perhaps, through neglect, the panman allowed the strike to boil down too low, and charging up suddenly to hide the fault when the sugar had almost cooked to proof, got grain very much to his own surprise and disgust perhaps, for not knowing how to deal with this new phase in sugar making, he probably thought the strike spoilt, and gave it up for lost.
got grain
This chapter examines the social determinants of depression in black men because no other race-by-gender population group has been stigmatized as much as black men.
“You're blocking the picture,” Maria says. . . . “You make a better door than a window.”
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