Call Down the Storm

Whilst the greatest effort has been made to ensure the quality of this text, due to the historical nature of this content, in some rare cases there may be minor issues with legibility. He sprawled in Alexander Gardell's battered heavy armchair, his heels hooked on the railing of the front verandah's iron balusters, his lank frame outwardly as relaxed as the moonlight flooded evening, his stomach burdened with Sarah's excellent supper. If only Alexander Cardell could be sitting in his chair this calm night, the turmoil in his son's mind would fade out as quickly as the rasping shrill call of that male cicada in the tow ering water oak near the road.