The firing was as divisive an act as anyone could remember—in terms of class, religion, culture, and geography. It was not just that everyone had an opinion about what had happened, it was that everyone had to voice it. There were fights in bars between strangers and fights on commuter trains between men who knew each other and who had, up to that moment, been friends and had concealed their political differences. Acheson, who always managed to keep his sense of humor about the attacks from the right, got into a cab soon after the anger had erupted. The driver turned around to look at his
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