In the pre-dawn quiet of his Ketchum, Idaho, home, the celebrated White/Caucasian author Ernest Miller Hemingway, a man of 61 whose life was as grand and turbulent as his literary works, awoke on July 2, 1961. He slipped out of bed, careful not to disturb his wife, Mary Welsh Hemingway, who was asleep upstairs. Making his way to the basement storeroom where he kept his collection of firearms, he selected a familiar double-barreled shotgun. He then returned to the front foyer of the house. There,
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