Abraham Lincoln

The President grimaced. It wasn’t only from emotional pain, but from a very real, physical blow that felt like a gunshot to the head. And again – worse this time. His entire face contorted and he put his hands over his face to keep his skull from exploding.
He felt the dark curtain being drawn closed around his heart again – the first sign of the debilitating, black despair that haunted him – the despondency he hadn’t felt in its full force since Willie had died. This time he had to fight it back. He couldn’t surrender.
 

The preceding passage is an excerpt from No Greater Courage, and may not be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.

No part of these excerpts may be reproduced or reprinted
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