And though he trembled with cold and fright to think of the cruel long nails and of the high whistling sound of the cane and of the chill you felt at the end of your shirt when you undressed yourself yet he felt a feeling of queer quiet pleasure inside him to think of the white fattish hands, clean and strong and gentle. Devotion had gone by the board. Carry it out of the house on the shoulders of hirelings. Grafton Street, along which he walked, prolonged that moment of discouraged poverty.
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