But he didn't go home. Instead, he went straight to the depot where he and his workmates collected their brooms and handcarts.
Shouldering his broom, he marched out into the city streets and started sweeping.
He did not, however, sweep as he used to in the old days, with a breath before each step and stroke of the broom,
but hurriedly and without pride in his work, solely intent on saving time.
He felt sickened by what he was doing and tormented by the knowledge that he was betraying the deeply held beliefs of a lifetime.
Had no one's future been at stake but his own, he would have starved to death rather than abandon his principles,
but there was Momo's ransom to collect, and this was the only way he knew of saving time.
He swept day and night without ever returning to his shack near the amphitheater.
When exhaustion overcame him, he would sit down on a park bench, or even on the kerb, and snatch a few minutes' sleep,
only to wake up with a guilty start and carry on sweeping.
He devoted just as little time to his meals, which took the form of hurried snacks wolfed down on the move.
Beppo swept for weeks and months on end. Winter followed autumn, and still he toiled on.
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