We lived as good neighbours—we worked together, we sweated together, and, when anything happened to our loved ones, we wept together.
We wept when the overhead railway was demolished.
He told me how, when its abolition was announced in 1968, grown men just sat down and wept.
I wept with them, too: and a good time was had by all.
At that time the bitterest tears were wept over the unfortunate position of the free licence holders.
There we wept together, and there we prayed together, knowing what happens when we fail to honour the humanity of those not like us.
Each week, that child screamed, wept and had to be helped out of the class room.
One old man wept by his home of grass and twigs that was about the size of a coffee table.
