Kenneth Bernoska

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“Look,’’ he said. “We’ll get back jus’ as soon’s we can. But we can’t tell how long.’’ “I’ll be here.’’ “Awright. Don’t make no speeches to yourself. Get goin’, Al.’’ The truck moved off in the late afternoon. “He’s a nice fella,’’ Tom said. “He thinks about stuff all the time.’’ “Well, hell—if you been a preacher, I guess you got to. Pa’s all mad about it costs fifty cents jus’ to camp under a tree. He can’t see that noways. Settin’ a-cussin’. Says nex’ thing they’ll sell ya a little tank a air. But Ma says they gotta be near shade an’ water ’cause a Granma.’’
The Grapes of Wrath
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