Wigford Rememberies
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Kyp Harness. Wigford Rememberies
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WIGFORD REMEMBERIES
And no I never will forget—no no—howling winds, flurries of snow through the grey sky down the gravel sideroad down the hill over the creek up the hill to the little farmhouse with the linoleum floors and an old white stove burning a constant fire over which there was a black iron lid over a hole through which he spat his tobacco and a door opening at the top of the stairs. Well! Come in, come in! and You’ll be staying for supper won’t you? with the thermometer and the barometer and the ticking clock and back a while to the house down the old sideroad with the weeds and the ditch and the verdant green forest alongside a creek brown and flowing by the wire fences, oh yes, and foxes and rabbits in the thickets, all very strange.
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“Goddamn!” Daddy Jack yells, runs over and grabs the pig’s head and shoves it right up to the rump of the other pig. “Now, now, you check, Bud!” Daddy Jack gasps, his face red and sweating with the effort of holding the squirming pig’s face in the crotch of the sow.
“Check what ’is cock’s doin’. HURRY UP now, goddamnit!”
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