I once knew a man, a Jamaican, who when he first came to England always
answered truthfully when asked ‘How are you?’ A bit sniffly, he might
reply; or he would describe his indigestion, or the twinge in his left
knee. One day a woman lost patience: ‘Look,’ she snapped, ‘there’s
something you must understand; in England, the answer to “How are you?”
is “I’m fine, how are you?”’ So he’d been told, and he didn’t need
telling twice: for all the English care, you can die and stiffen on the
street.
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