Sherri G. (4evrTexan) reviewed on 8/7/2005 + 35 more book reviews

The hill people and the Mexicans arrived on the same day. It was Wednesday, early in September 1952. The Cardinals were five games behind the Dodgers with three weeks to go, and the deason looked hopeless. The cotten, however, was waist-high to my father, over my head, and he and grandfather could be heard before supper whispering words that were seldom heard. It could be a "good crop."

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