“Wot 'appens to yer when yer dead?”
“If you're good you go to Heaven. If you're bad you go to Hell.”
“Long way off, both of 'em, ain't they?”
“Yes. Millions of miles.”
“They can't come after yer? Can't fetch yer back again?”
“No, never.”
The doorstep that we occupied was the last. A yard beyond began the black waste of mud. From the other end of the street, now growing dark, he never took his staring eyes for an instant.
“Ever seen a stiff 'un—a dead 'un?”
“No.”
“I 'ave—stuck a pin into 'im. 'E never felt it. Don't feel anything when yer dead, do yer?”