Here is the second instalment of The Bear Pit, with part one here. Stiff in his starched shirt the boss leaned over the new iron railings, rivets still bright and yet to be painted, and looked down into the pits deep shadows. The speeches had gone on longer than he’d hoped, the boss a man always with something to do. He was unused to such formalities, church on a Sunday more than enough listening for him, ears numbed by a life of blasting and stone rumble, not deaf yet, but heading down that road like many of the old quarrymen he’d worked under. Listening was not what he was paid to do, but direct his tools and his men to dig and cut and blast, and now paid up he was eager to just get off, the work done.
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