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Roosevelt wouldn’t allow himself to believe they were dying.
The night train from Albany rattled along through the darkened countryside. Dimmed lanterns swayed overhead, lighting the passenger coach, his features reflected in the grimy window. He looked exactly the way he felt, drained and stunned, his eyes rimmed with despair. He refused to yield to the terror that pulsed in his heart.
Five days ago, when he’d left New York City, Dr. Murdock, the attending physician, had assured him there was no reason for concern. His mother was bedridden with a severe cold, and his wife,