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Grandpa Winship was a stern, humorless man who smiled only on Christmas Eve. He did not drink, nor did he engage in conversation. He did not spare the rod. My father was afraid of him until he was dead and buried. Some time after Grandpa died, they cleaned out the little workshop he had over his garage, and this blotter turned up, something of which he surely disapproved, but could not bear to throw away.

blotter