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Frances PerkinsFrances Perkins
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that he needed this little glass to look at papers. He's a very tall man, and hunched over. His shoulders hunch over, as many tall men's do, apparently from stooping in his early years to get down to the level where other people could hear what he said. He's got that slightly stooping over posture.

So he sat there in the chair in the President's office, looking up over the little eyeglass, and then looking down through it. He appeared almost inhuman at that time. And yet, I had always liked Homer Cummings. He was a friendly, amiable sort of a fellow. I had never before felt this inhuman, didactic, pig-headed, poppa-knows-best attitude. In other words, he wasn't willing to even listen to what I thought, or what Charlie Wyzanski thought. He was just being elderly and stubborn, and knew best about everything.

I, of course, was absolutely unable to give any kind of a logical, legal argument in the matter. Wyzanski had not yet arrived and whatever he had in mind I wasn't aware of. More and more around the city, and in the NRA itself, the more they read it, the more they thought that Cummings was right, that the NRA had been wiped out. Although there was always a group, including Blacky Smith, this young lawyer who was in the NRA - and a very,





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