Fiction | March 01, 1999

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Even after the night of gunfire and cannon, of surging, drunken crowds on Market and Water Streets, all down the river front; after flares and rockets; even after the box-shaped gunboat finished  thumping bursts of fire and black mounds of smoke, men still staggered under the Weitzers’ window and paused at the visage of the brown Mississippi River.

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