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When I was seven I witnessed my aunt fight. Coming home from school I stopped to watch some stevedores playing pitch an' toss. In my eagerness to see what was happening, I accidentally touched a man's arm as he was about to pitch his penny against the wall. His penny fell short. Annoyed, he swore and cuffed me to the ground. I went crying home with a bleeding nose. My aunt was at my home. She said nothing as I told my tale to my mother. But no sooner had my mother washed my face, than my aunt had me by the hand frog marching me back to the pitch an' toss school. The man who had hit me must have seen Big Mag coming, because he tried to melt into the crowd.
The crowd, no longer interested in the pitch an' toss, parted to allow my aunt passage to her victim. A small man, he was no match for Big Mag. She beat him to the floor and began kicking him. A few of the men called out that he'd had enough, but my aunt in her wild rage paid them no heed. One of the stevedores, a large man nicknamed Twin because of his size, took hold of my aunt by the collar in an effort to stop her kicking the man senseless.
As he pulled her back, she twisted under his arm, trapping his fingers between her collar and neck. The force and speed of her movement broke two of Twin's fingers, Wild rumour later had it that the sound of Twin's fingers cracking had been clearly heard two streets away.
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