Having elected to resurrect the people who saw the last century out,* Author Beer found that Painter Whistler had cracked out a title for him. "Mauve?" Whistler had mused. "Mauve is just pink trying1 to be purple." "
All summer long," the first chapter proceeds, "Bronson Alcott paced through Concord's placid loveliness, being Bronson Alcott still, still ready to let flow the wondrous volume of his stored inanity on any victim. . . . Louisa May Alcott was famous. Her bones ached; her voice had become hoarse and coarse. . . . She...
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