For only one moment I paused to get my breath and to lean on my shovel.
Unfortunately the guard turned around just then and thought I was loafing.
The pain he caused me was not from any insults or any blows.
That guard did not think it worth his while to say anything, not even a swear word,
to the ragged, emaciated figure standing before him, which probably reminded him only vaguely of a human form.
Instead, he playfully picked up a stone and threw it at me.
That, to me, seemed the way to attract the attention of a beast, to call a domestic animal back to its job,
a creature with which you have so little in common that you do not even punish it.
The most painful part of beatings is the insult which they imply.
At one time we had to carry some long, heavy girders over icy tracks.
If one man slipped, he endangered not only himself but all the others who carried the same girder.
An old friend of mine had a congenitally dislocated hip.
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