The Loom of Destiny
stomach. As he went down the Child still hugged the piece of coal. The owner of the stolen goods stooped down, and tried to force it from the little claw-like fingers. They held like steel. So the owner of the coal kicked the stubborn fingers a few times with his boot. Bleeding and discoloured, the baby claws at last limply unclosed and straightened numbly out. The owner took his coal, gave the Child a good-bye kick in the stomach, and went back to his soap-box.
As he passed the Child's tin pail he kicked it vigorously into the road. Then only did the Child utter a sound. He groaned weakly and sat up in the mud. He saw the coal king sitting on his soap-box, luxuriously, opulently, puffing at his cigar stub. The Child's heart, of a sudden, seemed to wither up with an inexpressible, ominous, helpless hate!
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