When there is nothing else you can
still sit about and sing. Miners who have been buried in mines will
sing, people going down in ships."
"The Sussex labourers don't sing," said Amanda. "These people sing
well."
"They would probably sing as well if they were civilized. Even if
they didn't I shouldn't care. All the rest of their lives is muddle
and cruelty and misery. Look at the women. There was that party of
bent creatures we met yesterday, carrying great bundles, carrying
even the men's cloaks and pipes, while their rascal husbands and
brothers swaggered behind. Look at the cripples we have seen and
the mutilated men. If we have met one man without a nose, we have
met a dozen. And stunted people. All these people are like evil
schoolboys; they do nothing but malicious mischief; there is nothing
adult about them but their voices; they are like the heroic dreams
of young ruffians in a penitentiary. You saw that man at Scutari in
the corner of the bazaar, the gorgeous brute, you admired him--."
"The man with the gold inlaid pistols and the diamonds on his
yataghan.
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