How we cite our quotes:
But there it was, piling up around him: dislike. Not from everybody. But enough. And Maniac couldn't see it. (16.17)
Maybe it's actually a good thing that Maniac is so blind to the bad things around him. Out of sight, out of mind—until he's forced to see them, at least.
The old man stepped closer. "You got your own kind. It's how you wanted it. Let's keep it that way. NOW MOVE ON. Your kind's waitin'"—he flung his finger westward—up there." (17.18)
The old guy should know better, right? But prejudice goes both ways. Even minority groups can be prejudiced—and, considering how they're treated, can you blame them?
Mrs. Beale was out front with the yellow bucket, soapsuds spilling over the brim, a stiff bristle brush in her hand. She was scrubbing the house, the brick wall, scrubbing furiously at the chalk, grunting with the effort, her cheeks wet. He had been way too early, way too fast. Only the F had been scrubbed away. The rest was quite easy to read, the tall yellow letters the same color as the scrub bucket: ISHBELLY GO HOME." (18.29)
Whew, someone really doesn't want Maniac around. Poor Mrs. Beale is out there trying to scrub away the evidence, but even Maniac can't help seeing it now.