Of all the revelations, this is the conversation I remember from a September day almost 10 years ago. I was driving home from school with my daughters; they were 4 and almost 7, and the news a few days after the attacks was relentlessly grim: body counts and a smoking, toxic ruin and cars unclaimed at suburban train stations because Mom or Dad never came home from work that day. So we listened to the oldies station on the radio. That was safe and sunny, until the top of the hour brought the latest update: 2,595 now feared dead at the…
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