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washed the feet and comforted the heart, and he helped other men to
get through with their work when he might have gone early, a
superhuman thing to do. Polly was secretly a little afraid to be left
alone with this man and the power of the spirit that was in him. He
felt watched.
Platt, also struggling with things his mind could not contrive to
reconcile, said "that confounded hypocrite."
"
He's no hypocrite," said Parsons, "he's no hypocrite, O' Man. But
he's got no blessed Joy de Vive; that's what's wrong with him. Let's
go down to the Harbour Arms and see some of those blessed old captains
getting drunk."
"Short of sugar, O' Man," said Mr. Polly, slapping his trouser pocket.
"
Oh, carm on," said Parsons. "Always do it on tuppence for a
bitter."
"Lemme get my pipe on," said Platt, who had recently taken to smoking
with great ferocity. "Then I'm with you."
Pause and struggle.
"Don't ram it down, O' Man," said Parsons, watching with knitted
brows. "Don't ram it down. Give it Air. Seen my stick, O' Man? Right
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