May the worms eat you."
Dialogues such as this were heard at every turn
My boyhood recollections include the following episode: Mother
once sent me to a tinker's shop to have our drinking-cup repaired.
It was a plain tin affair and must have cost, when new, something
like four or five cents. It had done service as long as I could
remember. It was quite rusty, and finally sprang a leak. And so I
took it to the tinker, or tinsmith, who soldered it up. On my way
home I slipped and fell, whereupon the cup hit a cobblestone and
sprang a new leak. When my mother discovered the damage she
made me tell the story of the accident over and over again,
wringing her hands and sighing as she listened. The average
mother in our town would have given me a whipping in the
circumstances. She did not
CHAPTER II WE lived in a deep basement, in a large, dusky room
that we shared with three other families, each family occupying
one of the corners and as much space as it was able to wrest.
Violent quarrels were a commonplace occurrence, and the
question of floor space a staple bone of contention.
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