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“What do you mean?” he said. “Do you wish me a good morning, or mean that it is a good morning whether I want it or not; or that you feel good this morning; or that it is a morning to be good on?”
“I’m just going to lie here and sleep and dream of food, if I can’t get it any other way. I hope I never wake up again.”
His rage passes description—the sort of rage that is only seen when rich folk that have more than they can enjoy suddenly lose something that they have long had but have never before used or wanted.
If more of us valued food and cheer and song above hoarded gold, it would be a merrier world.
