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41 Setting Free The moon foundered like a stricken galleon and went down, dragging with it all my hopes of domestic bliss. Down the distant slopes of the world it listed and creaked as, one by one, its lights went out like a village going to bed. Darkness then enshrouded me in a prickle of dotage, clouded me in maundering fluff, until the rage to live again bobbed like Ishmael’s coffin to the surface, caught the light of the sun rising, its spreading warmth, like the happy surprise on the face of a girl not in love but of love. So now I have begun, still deeply in thrall, to set myself free. ...

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