Later, alone, in the kitchen Mitt stares at his father, agitated, waving the card. “A gold mine. A gold mine, dad! And you won’t cash it in.” George shakes his head sadly, unable to make eye contact. Mitt wipes his mouth. “Why are you wasting your time with cars? And… politics?” He catches himself, and lowers his voice: Lenore is asleep, above them. “You’re a fool, dad,” he says, tossing the card to the floor and walking out. George Romney stoops to pick up the card, eyes red. It is heavier than he remembered.
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