The spotlight fell on Julie, a dark dark girl in a pure-white dress. She stepped forward and clasped her hands.
"Swing low, sweet chario-ot .." Suddenly, miraculously, the turmoil of the dance was gone. The darkened room, her classmates, the band playing its soft accompaniment behind her, all became a part of the song -- her song, the song of her people. It was almost as if she were not Julie Brownell, but instead all those who had suffered before her, all those yet to come. Julie had realized her heritage. (from the back cover)
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