If my remnant of a conscience presumed to rise and reprove me, I stamped it down.

It had no reasonable excuse for rising; I wasn't what I was from choice.
But, somehow, on this particular morning, my unreasonable conscience was again alive and kicking.

Perhaps it was the quickening influence of the spring which resurrected it; perhaps Luther's quotation from the remarks of Captain Jedediah Dean had stirred it to rebellion.

A man may know, in his heart, that he is no good and still resent having others say that he is, particularly when they say that he and Luther Rogers are birds of a feather.

I didn't care for Dean's good opinion; of course I didn't! Nor for that of any one else in Denboro, my mother excepted.