The young prince, whose ancestor thwarted great Hannibal, tossed in a canopied bed and decided to become a Saragat Socialist. The young peasant, who had turned Communist, sweated in a stiff black city suit and cursed his mother because she had borne a clever son. The priest twisted this way and that. Lovers quarreled. Children conspired against the priest in the night. A Fascist banged the table with a return of bygone bravado. And an old woman with a spade stood spraddle-legged in a potato field and cursed them all with a dry, screaming...
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