The night we left Middlesboro, Kentucky, was a cold blue night. As we past by the stock barn where we had been so many times before in the warmth of a beautiful sunny day, I thought to myself, "Something tells me I will never see this place again." There was no heat in the car, and the bitter icy cold winds blew up through the back seat where Linda Gail and little Junebug sat holding each other, wrapped in a quilt shivering, but without saying...
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