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I'm not sure if it counts as one of your Welträson, Jay, but reading your work is a very good reason to be on Substack.

This summer, you've struck me as being a bit like a 17th-century English poet, retired to his garden to write and reflect, who one day hears outside the walls the clamour of civil strife and so re-enters the public fray.

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Hah! Unsurprisingly, Jeffrey, you've chosen just the very apt formulation for how I've been feeling -- and delivered with it, in similarly 17th-century fashion, a suave compliment. A slightly less apt but more vigorous analogy might be Michael Corleone in Godfather III: with clenched fists, "Just when I thought I was out . . .." But that would be less seemly, so I'm sticking with yours.

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