Caste is not just a division of labour, it is a division of labourers.
An ill labourer quarrells with his tooles.
Almost every labourer has his Sunday suit, very often really good clothes, sometimes glossy black, with the regulation 'chimney pot'. His unfortunate walk betrays him, dress how he will.
I was a manual labourer. I figured out really early on that the value of my life could be determined by my hourly rate as a manual labourer digging holes.
In reality, the labourer belongs to capital before he has sold himself to capital.
The harvest truly is plenteous, but the labourers are few.