When you chase down your letter carrier and say, “Wait a minute, Mr. Postman!” and jam a get-well card you handwrote to Grandma into my hand, correctly addressed and with a Forever stamp in the upper-right-hand corner, guess what? I have to take your letter. I work for you, the American people. Congress has not only authorized me to carry that letter but has obliged me to take it, to carry it in trust and under the legal protection of the federal government and deliver it wherever it is supposed to go. If Granny lived in a Zuni cave dwelling at the bottom of a canyon in the Four Corners area,
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