" To them, right and wrong is words, boy." He came away and eased himself into his big desk chair, sitting straight, hands out before him on the unscarred presidential cherrywood. "Right and wrong ain't words," he said. "They're feelings. In your guts and intestines and such. Not words. Not songs with guitars. They're what make you feel like you do. They're inside you. Your heart and digestion. Like the folks you personally love. "
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