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No prospect, no prospect, little prospect – the future was blank and bleak. As the Irish joke had it at the time, the wolf was at the door, howling to get out.
There was a kind of unspoken pact: people transformed themselves through emigration so that the state and society could stay the same.
He invented a new world, Pollantory, a place where souls went to have the good knocked out of them before they went to Hell, just as they went to Purgatory to have the bad knocked out of them before they went to Heaven.
