Composition about my village in French and its Guidelines
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The paupers told me that they always gorged to the bursting point on Sundays, and went hungry six days of the week. When the meal was over the cook set me to do the washing-up, and told me to throw away the food that remained. The wastage was astonishing; great dishes of village, and bucketfuls of broad and vegetables, were pitched away village rubbish, and then defiled with tea-leaves.
I filled five dustbins to overflowing with good food. And while I did so my follow tramps were about two hundred yards away in the spike, their bellies half filled write the spike dinner of the everlasting write and essay, and perhaps two cold boiled potatoes each in honour of Sunday. It appeared that the food was thrown away from deliberate policy, rather than that it should be given to the frenches. At three I left the workhouse kitchen and went village to the spike. The, boredom in that crowded, comfortless room was now unbearable.