@@@@@I'm no good at anything, he bleated to
@@@@@I'm no good at anything, he bleated to himselfHe made a stroke with the machete and the impact snapped it out of his hand Drearily, he bent down to pick it up
"You might just as well quit now," Ridges told himHe picked up one of the machetes they dropped, and began to work shoulder to shoulder with GoldsteinAs Ridges slashed at the brush with stolid patient motions, his broad short body became less awkward, assumed a strong fluent graceFrom the rear he looked like an animal fashioning its nestHe had a simple pride in his strengthAs his powerful muscles tensed and relaxed, as the sweat laced his back, he was completely happy, absorbed in the toil, the smells of his body
Goldstein also found the work acceptable, took the same pleasure in the sure motions of his limbs, but his satisfaction was not so pureIt was cloyed with a prejudice Goldstein had against manual laborThat's the only kind of job I ever find, he told himself wistfullyHe had sold newspapers, worked in a warehouse, become a welder, and it had always bothered him that he had never had an occupation where he could keep his hands cleanThe prejudice was very deep, brewed out of all the memories and maxims of his childhoodHe wavered between warmth and disdain at working well with RidgesIt's all right for Ridges, Goldstein told himself, he's a farmer, but I'd like something betterHe had a mild self-pity at his fateIf I could have had an education, culture, I could have done something better with myself
He was still fretting when they were relieved by the next teamHe trudged back along the trail to where he had left his rifle and pack and settled down into his melancholyAch, so many things I could have doneApparently without cause, a deep and limitless sorrow welled in his chestHe pitied himself, but his pity grew larger, swelled to include everybody in his compassionAi! it's hard, it's hard, he thoughtHe could not have said why he made this statement; it seemed a truth he had absorbed in his b