“First,” said Lamancha, “I should have a try at wringing your neck. Then I should wreck any reputation you may have up and down this land. I promise you I should make you very sorry you didn’t stay in bed this morning.” Lamancha had succeeded in controlling himself—in especial he had checked the phrase “Infernal little haberdasher” which had risen to his lips—and his voice was civil and quiet again.
Johnson gave a mirthless laugh. “I’m not afraid of a dirty poacher.”
“If I’m a poacher that’s no reason why you should behave like a cad.”
It is a melancholy fact which exponents of democracy must face that, while all men may be on a level in the eyes of the State, they will continue in fact to be preposterously unequal. Lamancha had been captured in circumstances of deep suspicion which he
