Her face is reflecting the flames of the burning plantation, you know the way white people do, and his black face is dark in the night and she says to him, "Thaddeus, real love isn't ever ambivalent. Somewhere in there I recall, Margaret and Thaddeus find the time to discuss the nature of love. And the slaves string up old daddy and so on, historical fiction. And then of course the Yankees come, and they set the slaves free. And so, there's a lot of hot stuff going down, when Margaret and Thaddeus can catch a spare torrid ten under the cotton-picking moon. And she's married, but her white slave-owner husband has AIDS: Antebellum Insufficiently-Developed Sex-organs. It isn't true what they say about mothers. Silence isn't golden and it surely doesn't mean consent, so start practicing the art of communication. And her name is Margaret, and she's in love with her daddy's number-one slave, and his name is Thaddeus. Because the truth is, it isn't worth loving something if you aren't going to love it all the way. Well, you ought to, instead of spending the rest of your life, trying to get through "Democracy in America." It's about this white woman whose daddy owns a plantation in the Deep South, in the years before the Civil War. I'd swear that's a line from my favorite best-selling paperback novel, "In Love with the Night Mysterious", except I don't think you've ever read it.
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