There are no funerals among the poor, only burials. He would teach her all he knew of life so that if the Hand should ever reach his shoulder, she would be able to defend herself. Stonily he had disengaged himself. She turned and looked at the red LED of the alarm clock that read 3:55. He fell backwards on his butt, the wind knocked out of him. Some indeed carried themselves, dressed themselves even, rather as foreign visitors from the land of “Looking Backward” and “News from Nowhere” than as the indigenous Londoners they were.
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