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39 Abstinence Shad satisfied himself while Molly kept away by thinking of the meat that had filled him up one Christmas: roast turkey, duck, peppered chicken wings, thick slices of salty ham. The lady who ran the place Shad lived on part of ’46 and most of ’47 let her hands feast and dance two days and gave them three more to recover—just think! —before the heavy work resumed. He shared a cabin that year with a man who cut himself each morning. A man who’d been breaking his own skin, an inch at a time, for seven years. Told Shad the cuts drew feeling out and left it somewhere, harmless, on the floor. That man ate nothing but potatoes and drippings, even when offered game at the Christmas meal. He told Shad, who lay still on his pallet, just thinking, ain’t a thing you’ll hunger for, if you first refuse to taste. ...

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