There are no funerals among the poor, only burials. So he sharpened a score of pencils, and after fiddling about and rewriting the last page he had written the previous night, he plunged into work. An enormous Hand that rose up swiftly, blotting out the sky. “Here goes for the new life!” “Here goes for the new life,” he echoed and stood up. Don't you understand? Back among your own again, and only a few of us the wiser. All that was needed to complete the simile was that the girl should burst into song.
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