She looks after me, and tidies the house, and it's her that lights _our_ lamp; and she hides the books carefully away from me so's I can't grease 'em, and my fingers make prints on 'em like criminals.
She's good, but it doesn't turn out well, same as I've told you, and when one's unhappy everything's favorable to being unhappy." He is silent for a while, and then adds by way of conclusion to all he has said, and to all that one can say, "_My_ father, he caved in at fifty.

And I shall cave in at fifty, p'raps before." With his thumb he points through the twilight at that sort of indelible darkness which makes the multitude, "Them others, it's not the same with them.

There's those that want to change everything and keep going on that notion.

There's those that drink and want to drink, and keep going that way." I hardly listen to him while he explains to me the grievances of the different groups of workmen, "The molders, monsieur, them, it's a matter of the gangs----" Just now, while looking at the population of the factory, I was almost afraid; it seemed to me that these toilers were different sorts of beings from the detached and impecunious people who live around me.
When I look at this one I say to myself, "They are the same; they are all alike." In the distance, and together, they strike fear, and their combination is a menace; but near by they are only the same as this one.

One must not look at them in the distance.
Petrolus gets excited; he makes gestures; he punches in and punches out again with his fist, the hat which is stuck askew on his conical head, over the ears that are pointed like artichoke leaves.