I've spat at her authority.
I've said in plain words what I think of her--fat, commerce-ridden, smug,
selfish. I've watched her bleed and been glad of it, but at the bottom of
my heart I'd have liked to have seen her outstretched hand. Denis, lad,
that's coming. We've got to remember that we, too, are a proud, obstinate,
pig-headed race. We've got to meet that hand half-way, and when the moment
comes I'd like to be the first to raise the boys round here and give the
Germans hell!"
Another blue ball shot up into the sky. Sir Denis took the packet of papers
from the table and stood by the great open stone hearth. Michael Dilwyn
moved to his side, a gaunt, impressive figure.
"You're doing the right thing, Denis," he declared. "What fighting we've
done, and any that we may still have to do with England, we'll do it on the
surface. I was down at Queenstown when they brought in some of the bodies
from the _Lusitania_. To Hell with such tricks! There's no Irishman yet has
ever joined hands with those who war against women and babies."
Denis drew a log of burning wood out on to the hearth and laid the packet
deliberately upon it. He stood there watching the smoke curl upwards as the
envelope shrivelled and the flames crept from one end to the other.
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