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Summary
Looking again at his father he discerned not contempt, but regret and even compassion:
- “Dean, do you remember what I told you when you were nineteen? Did you keep your promise, son?"
The heart in his chest picked up an uneven rhythm like a horse at a gallop, a flush of shame creeping up his neck to his cheeks. How can he not remember if those words burn with a red-hot brand on the gates of his memory: “Dean, Sammy is your brother. Promise you won't touch him. You won't dishonour your mother’s name, son?"