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40 Sabbath Breaker The awful daring of a moment’s surrender, which an age of prudence can never retract. —T. S. Eliot In the early morning darkness love arrives in the neighborhoods of Bloomington, Indiana, tossing little plastic bags of pamphlets into yards. The message is that no name is too Jewish anymore, that blacks and mud people are really quite okay and should be taken out to lunch. Love fires kisses at them on the streets of Skokie, of Springfield, of Salem. And then love turns on its radio and takes a nap. It runs away to sea, where white birds fly, and where strange pieces of wood are found along the water’s edge—not carved but natural. Expecting to see men and women sunning on the sand, love looks far and wide for them, finds only black water pigs that had come out of the water and were running in and out of black volcanic rocks. Love resolves to have another look at the cloud of its life. H.J. ...

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