Meanwhile, the deranged viewers walk among the police officers who take notes, wash down the street of it blood, sweep up glass. Another metaphor likens the hanging "lanterns on the wrecks that clings, Empty husks of locust, to iron poles." With locusts, what was once green and lush, becomes brown and barren. Here, what was just minutes ago a living, breathing body, becomes dead and inert.

And what is the reaction of the voyeurs to this sight? Was it what they wanted, hoped to see? Now the onlookers look just like patients, "Our throats were tight as tourniquets, Our feet were bound with splints, but now, Like convalescents intimate and gauche..." However, worse yet, is the horror of recognition that there is no reason why one person lives and another dies. This is the lesson for the day: This person could have been good or evil, a friend or foe,...
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