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820 pages, Kindle Edition
First published July 2, 2019
Straightening her shoulders, pushing her breasts out, and with the confidence of a queen, she reentered the dance.
She was taller than Aino, but younger, not yet fully developed. She was not beautiful but not ugly, pleasant looking. There was no fat on her, nor was there any on the other girls, but she wasn’t thin. She looked strong, in a girl way.
Then, like a seaborne Sisyphus, the ship clawed to the top of the next towering wave, as the sailors fought gravity and slippery decks to maintain their balance and their lives.
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With those you love, you accept that there are only two ways you will not get hurt when you lose them. You stop loving them or you die first.
Both Women were silent at the mention of the pandemic. It was generally not spoken about, as it held even more terror than the fighting. No one knew its cause or its cure, and it was spreading everywhere.
“It’s killing more of our guys than the Germans�,
The most serious response was the Espionage Act. When President Woodrow Wilson urged a Democratic-controlled Congress to pass the act, he declared that “these creatures of passion, disloyalty, and anarchy must be crushed out. They are not many, but they are infinitely malignant.� The penalty for violating the act was up to thirty years in prison or death.
It was hard, prosaic, daily work that was never finished and never varied, but it was essential to the lives of everyone living there. She counted. Here was no great cause—other than earning room and board and Eleanor’s keep. However, why wasn’t this as a great a cause as any? Yes, there were no great debates, like syndicalism versus socialism. There were only small ones.
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The tasks were set before her—every morning, ever the same—like seeds spilled across a board that she had to sort, and after having them sorted into various piles by the end of the day, she awoke to find them scattered again, and again she set about sorting. There was no goal. There was no end point. There was just this daily living, this daily sorting of seeds that was the very life of the poikataloja and the men that lived there. She lived like a circle instead of a line. Since what she was doing didn’t matter in terms of power, politics, and history, it didn’t matter what she was doing. It felt peaceful.