Listen: The Patient

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Abstract
LONG years ago, in my Boston student days, the way home led past a downslope from Beacon Hill that gave onto Tremont Street. It was too narrow for wheeled traffic, so it was ideal for a curbstone evangelist who preached to a sidewalk crowd there every evening except Sunday. I used to listen to him occasionally; when after a while I gave up it was because, although he was an accomplished outdoor orator, I could never seem to get tuned in on his subject. I know it was religion only because of a truly spectacular happening one autumn evening in . . .

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