The day the great man sang, heat blazed in haloes over Bennelong Point. This is what Pearl will remember, later, this is what she will say: that his voice turned the air holy. Men, sweat-slicked, stood with bowed heads or hung off scaffolds, swatting at flies and tears. Few looked at the singer, they needed all their senses to hear. Needed their whole bodies, skin and eyes and hearts, to absorb what they couldn't say: that sacredness had retur...
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