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charity for the love of God, charity for the love of the
Blessed Virgin, charity for the love of all Saints. A group
of miserable children, almost naked, screaming forth the
same petition, discover that they can see themselves re-
flected in the varnish of the carriage, and begin to dance
and make grimaces, that they may have the pleasure of
seeing their antics repeated in this mirror. A crippled idiot,
in the act of striking one of them who drowns his clamor-
ous demand for charity, observes his angry counterpart
in the panel, stops short, and thrusting out his tongue,
begins to wag his head and chatter. The shrill cry raised
at this, awakens half a dozen wild creatures wrapped in
frowsy brown cloaks, who are lying on the church steps
with pots and pans for sale. These, scrambling up, ap-
proach, and beg defiantly. «I am hungry. Give me so-
mething. Listen to me Signor. I am hungry!». Then,
a ghastly old woman, fearful of being too late, comes
hobbling down the street, stretching out one hand, and
scratching herself all the way with the other, and scream-
ing' long before she can be heard, «Charity, charity! I'll
go and pray for you directly, beautiful lady, if you'll give
me charity!» Lastly, the members of a brotherhood for
burying the dead: hideously masked, and attired in shab-
by black robes, white at the skirts, with the splashes of
many muddy winters: escorted by a dirty priest, and a
congenial Cross-Bearer: come hurrying past. Surrounded
by this motley concourse, we move out of Fondi: bad
bright eyes glaring at us, out of the darkness of every
crazy tenement, like glistened fragments of its filth and
putrefaction.

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