The statue stood on the bluff near the house, a rough-hewn
image of a man staring into the valley below.
After a week, the grass had grown noticeably around its platter-sized
feet, where the caretaker couldn't trim it easily. Birds built a nest on one shoulder.
Jefferson trekked to it each morning to watch the sunrise. On the eighth day, the stone head turned to
him. "Yes," it said.
"Pardon?"
"You asked if we should invite the Tyrant's men to
participate. I agree. It will be symbolically important."
"That was a week ago!"
"I wished to give it due consideration."
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