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18 Epidemic Friends were falling all around us. I felt lucky, untouched, puzzled how it skipped around us. My father, aunts, cousins, more friends, as if we lived on a street in Bosnia where every wall had bullet holes and every doorstep except ours was stained with blood. Then it was you. What do I do? I have not kept even the simplest word of each commandment. I have not smeared my doorpost with sacrificial blood; grace is mine. My shame is no secret; I’m glad it’s not me. I protest that I’m human. For now I’m relieved. But I won’t tell you. But I won’t tell you. ...

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