Pig Killers (Stroud, 1890) A photographer squeezed a sovereign from a Baptist farmer rarely given to whim or pride. They were pig killing and the photograph a century on shows them pausing at their work. One looks like a man who had confirmed his face in a pool, shattered it to drink, and hurried on. Now he’d glimpse timelessness contrived by a conjuring lens. He sensed no contradiction with the meek and mild. Baptists might disdain to dance, yet slaughter flocks; salt bacon and plump winter ham. With nonchalance of a disbeliever, a younger man stands…
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