Nostalgically, Bill Feingold intones the excruciating litany. "Having your tongue torn out, and your throat cut across," he rumbles, recalling words memorized on a New York City rooftop 38 years ago. "And buried in the sands of the sea, where the tide ebbs and flows twice in every 24 hours--if you should reveal the secrets belonging to the degree of first-degree Mason. The second degree is to have your breast torn open and left prey to the vultures of the air. The third degree..." If he wonders whether anyone really cares what happens when you reveal the secrets of a third-degree...
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