The alleyway exuded an air of Yom Kippur - beautiful, sad and eerily quiet. - Esther Kreitman

Bill looked straight through the old man. His thoughts were very far away. ("Becoming a Tramp")

The festive season was over, and this was the time of year when an old folk song haunted the air in town and village an old familiar melody that evoked a smile here and a sigh there:
"Father, my Father, winter is drawing near,
And Father, O Father, a Jew should know no fear,
But look, O look, the snow is falling fast,
And hark, O hark, at the spiteful wintry blast.
See, there goes my roof, the water's coming through,
Hurry, Father, hurry, send succour to a poor old Jew!"

His eyes burn like torches but he does not say a word. He looks at his mother with pity and clenches his small fists, thinking of Khetskel, of Shoshe, and of a way to escape. ("Shloyme")