"Take the things back to the kitchen, Henderson," said Queed. "I'll ring
when we are ready."
The breeze was freshening, blowing full upon Surface, who did not appear
to notice it. Queed got up and lowered the window. The old man's
neglected cigarette burned his fingers; he lit another; it, too, burned
itself down to the cork-tip without receiving the attention of a puff.
Presently he went on talking:
"I was of a high-spirited line. Thank God, I never learned to fawn on
the hand that lashed me. Insult I would not brook. I struck back, and
when I struck, I struck to kill.--Did I not? So hard that the State
reeled.... So hard that if I had had something better than mean negroes
and worse whites for my tools, fifth-rate scavengers, buzzards of
politics ... this hand would have written the history of the State in
these forty years.
"That was the way I struck, and how did they answer me?--Ostracism ...
Coventry ... The weapons of mean old women, and dogs.... The dogs! That
is what they were....
"Well, other arms were ready to receive me. Others were fairer-minded
than the cowardly bigots who could blow hot or cold as their selfish
interests and prostituted leaders whispered.
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