The fisherman who takes two little orphans into his already overbrimming family belongs fortunately to a world not altogether of legend.

‘Children crawled over each other like little grey worms in the gutters,’ he said. ‘The only red things about them were their buttocks and they were raw. Their faces looked as if snails had slimed on them and their mothers were like great sick beasts whose byres had never been cleared. […]’

As the lark with vary'd tune, / Carrols to the evening loud; / Mark the mild reſplendent moon, / Breaking through a parted cloud!

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