The sun began climbing the sky at 6:07 a.m. Within twenty-five minutes, William McMullen was at the polls. They had not opened, but he had much to do. Things had not worked out so well last year.
For more than two decades, he had shinnied up the pole of political power, supporting those above him and holding onto those below. The Squire was still the one Democrat in the city who could get things done. But on this voting day he knew he was slipping. The accursed Republicans were pushing him down and the coloreds were adding the grease. The only way he could take care of Moyamensing was not to fall any farther. A shivering early-morning chill kept him awake. Yes, he had much to do.
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