"“What do you think happens to people when they die, Tulip?” Mr. Tulip was taken aback. “What kind of —ing question is that? You know what happens!” “Do I?” “Certainly. Remember when we had to leave that guy in that —ing barn and it was a week before we got to bury him properly? Remember how his—” “I don’t mean bodies!” “Ah. Religion stuff, then?” “Yes!” “I never worry about that —ing stuff.” “Never?” “Never —ing give it a thought. I’ve got my potato.” Then Mr. Tulip found that he’d walked a few feet alone, because Mr. Pin had stopped dead. “Potato?” “Oh, yeah. Keep it on a string round my neck.” Mr. Tulip tapped his huge chest. “And that’s religious?” “Well, yeah. When you die, if you’ve got your potato, everything will be okay.” “What religion is that?” “Dunno. Never ran across it outside our village. I was only a kid. I mean, it’s like gods, right? When you’re a kid, they say ‘that’s God, that is.’ Then you grow up and you find there’s —ing millions of ’em. Same with religion.” “And it’s all okay if you have a potato when you die?” “Yep. You’re allowed to come back and have another life.” “Even if...” Mr. Pin swallowed, for he was in territory that had never before existed on his internal atlas, “... even if you’ve done things that people might think were bad?” “Like chopping up people and —ing shovin’ ’em off cliffs?” “Yeah, that kind of thing...” Mr. Tulip sniffed, causing his nose to flash. “We-ell, it’s okay so long as you’re really —ing sorry about it.” Mr. Pin was amazed, and a little suspicious. But he could feel things...catching up. There were faces in the darkness and voices on the cusp of hearing. He dared not turn his head now, in case he saw anything behind him. You could buy a sack of potatoes for a dollar. “It works?” he said. “Sure. Back home people’d been doing it for hundreds of —ing years. They wouldn’t do it if it didn’t —ing work, would they?” (pp. 271-272)"