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The year 1937 has been full of ups and downs for my dad and me, but I can look back and see far more good than bad. Still, with holiday revelry comes liquor, and I can’t help feeling catastrophe is waiting for us. I’m startled when a mysterious stranger mistakes me for my dead mother, but it’s the far-off expression on Dad’s face that really frightens me.
Will the ghosts of a particular Christmas past threaten our chance for better days in 1938?
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