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More alike than unalike
At the end of a long drive bound by neatly manicured grounds, behind a trim brick building, lies the remains of the stockade that was Camp Sumter, better known as Andersonville Prison. I first learned about Andersonville from Carene Mallard, she of the tight perm and tighter smile, she who bore no foolishness in her attempts to educate the adolescents of Bulloch County in the broad strokes of American History. I did not miss the point that Andersonville was an awful place, a horrible, frightful place, but still I wanted to see it.
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