Marc Chagall comes from Vitebsk but has nothing Jewish about him in looks, in manner, in any peculiarities. Yet he paints almost nothing but ghetto life—and in a semi-naïf, rather childish fashion, does it with enough feeling to “put it over.”
I arrove about sunrise at the 'Planter's' jest as the 'Powhatan' was a steaming up to the wharf; and so I druv on to de wharf to see if de judge and his darter was a-board, and sure nuff dere dey was!
But they wouldn't find out by standing around. Eva clapped her hands together. “We're not here to fuck spiders, let's do this."
What will you take to be paid out?’ said the butcher. ‘The regular chummage is two–and–six. Will you take three bob?’ ‘And a bender,’ suggested the clerical gentleman. ‘Well, I don’t mind that; it’s only twopence a piece more,’ said Mr. Martin. ‘What do you say, now? We’ll pay you out for three–and–sixpence a week. Come!’
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