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But to compare little things with large is a salutary habit; the little thing tells you a little about the large thing

a wispy breath of mist now seeped from the terraced buildings, from the rooftops with their vague crenellations…

They adore poverty. And cold and damp and discomfort. And dirt. One mustn’t forget dirt. It’s called mendicity. It’s meant to uh, to relieve you of distractions from your full devotion to God.

This is a language novel, written in a futurised farrago of Romani, rhyming slang, and Russian

Knowing how far I was from the child, the halfmade pupa, and how far I was from the adult – the finished imago.