The face, broad and fleshy, with dark-ringed eyes and a gap-toothed smile; the body, stocky and powerful, slightly uncomfortable in the boxy blue suits; and the hands, strong and blunt like small shovels--all combine to give him the look of one of the proud immigrants who toiled in the caissons deep below the East River to build the Brooklyn Bridge. A laborer, a man capable of bearing heavy weights, a man of explosive passions and simple pleasures. Someone strong. Someone you do not want to tangle with.
Then a rustle of papers, and the man puts on a delicate pair of...
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