One snowy morning last week Roger Porter, 28, hauled his lean frame out of bed and into the darkness of his Alexandria, Va., apartment. It was 5:45. He struggled through a few pushups, stood groggily erect and then touched his toes while his wife Ann scurried to dress and prepare breakfast.
He scanned two memorandums as he gulped his orange juice and chewed through his toast, talking here and there about the world and the nation and his place in it, the last still a source of wonder to him. The evening before,...
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