But I can give it its name now. The idiots are marching through the streets in processions from town to town, whipping their own backs until they are covered in blood, spreading the bloody Pestilence wherever they go! The dead pile in the streets like timber. “You, anyhow, don’t deserve it,” he said. They blinded me. “Perhaps,” he queried, “you wish to avoid being seen about with any one—er— connected with the profession, under present circumstances. Somebody may be on the watch—perhaps, that old ginger-hackled Jew. ‘Yes, that is what the nuns they said of me.
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