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Aw, play it, Mister Benbow!” somebody cried. The earth rolls relentlessly, and the sun blazes for ever on the earth, breeding, breeding. But why do you insist like the earth, music? Rolling and breeding, earth and sun for ever relentlessly. But why do you insist like the sun? Like the lips of women? Like the bodies of men, relentlessly? “Aw, play it, Mister Benbow!” But why do you insist, music? Who understands the earth? Do you, Mingo? Who understands the sun? Do you, Harriett? Does anybody know—among you high yallers, you jelly-beans, you pinks and pretty daddies, among you sealskin browns, smooth blacks, and chocolates-to-the-bone—does anybody know the answer? “Aw, play it, Benbow!” “It’s midnight. De clock is strikin’ twelve, an’ … ” “Aw, play it, Mister Benbow!
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