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Analysis Of The Book ' Honey Dale County ' Essay

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Sunday mornings in Honey-Dale County was what those untraveled in the “inferior” corners of the world may have stereotyped little towns down South, which although accurate in this case, is nonetheless unwarranted to pass judgement on what one has not seen. Yes, the devout and ostensibly devout would awake early, dressed in their finest whites and yellows, the latter not minding that a few moments upon arrival at church they would break the commandment against envy, scorning the Harper’s frivolous and new car yet clandestinely wishing it was theirs. At times, Morning Prayer in these nooks of the world was more of a social critic than a communal worship. An honest outsider, as I hope my dear readers will come to view myself as, will come out of the experience with a greater amount of respect for the pious than solely feed their disdain for the impersonators while a truly honest one would have to acknowledge that the disdain stemmed for having seen oneself reflected in such people. Of course, working up religious fervor also worked up hunger amongst the townsfolk’s bellies as Luther’s break with the church was still felt strongly in these parts two-hundred years later ensuring a scarcity of Catholics, no bread had been broken. It was here in a little restaurant that a daughter and her father arrived, promptly seated at a lacquered wooden table, before the rush of Sunday brunchers arriving all at once. Or rather an interesting girl, not quite a woman but too sagacious to insult
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