Ezekiel: I'm here to fix the butter churn...
Katie: Is that a barn raising in your tri-blends, or is it rumspringa already?
The hayfork tumbled from Matthias's suddenly alien fingers.
The sense of suffocation which had so oppressed him in the English city returned now, redoubled, to destroy the comfort of his familiar surroundings. The barn, the house he had built himself, they were outrages; and his clothes, too, were intolerable, they choked him. He tore his hat from his head and pulled apart the straw with hands made strong by wrath.
Serene above his convulsing shoulders, an early moon silvered the sky above the barn.
Fool! Sinful fool!
If only he had remained with his family instead of treating with those electric fireplace manufacturers in the English city. He would never have come across that "dog" (ha!), would never have sustained that wound which his uncle's poultices had no power to treat, which even now pumped palpable corruption through his blood.
And the moon, that once friendly angel, which for as long as he could remember had ordered the nights and blessed all natural increase, would not have become what it now was: a cold medallion, struck to commemorate both transgression and punishment.
Matthias screamed, and all the penned beasts for three miles screamed back at him...
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