“Here,” she said, “in this place, we flesh; flesh that weeps, laughs; flesh that
dances on bare feet in grass. Love it. Love it hard. Yonder they do not love
your flesh. They despise it. They don’t love your eyes; they’d just as soon pick
em out. No more do they love the skin on your back. Yonder they flay it. And
O my people they do not love your hands. Those they only use, tie, bind, chop
off and leave empty. Love your hands! Love them. Raise them up and kiss”
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