THE NINTH MAN
knew the lad. Well I remembered him sitting all day before the cobbler's door, and sometimes dragging his legs painfully behind him, like a lame dog. So why should he hate me? So I fell to comforting Simonetta, and found the comforting of her sweet. But the thought of the shoemaker's son stayed with me and tormented me in my sleep, and in the early morning I made my way to the shop, and he sat in his little chair, grinning horribly.
He said: "Ha! you have come. They brought thee word, Matteo. Now it is my turn to love life, for it is better to have crooked legs and live ones than straight legs and dead ones. Be proud of your straight legs while you may, Matteo." And he spoke to me with such spite and such venom that it distorted the face of him.
"And what have I done to thee, Oreste?" I cried.
"When I was little and would have played with you, you ran away. And what have you done to me?" says he. "Morning and night you have passed me by, a living reminder of what I was and what you were. Morning and night you have made my lot
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