"Are those the sentiments of the great republic ?" Barebone laughed aloud.
"I thought I could make you look up from your book," he answered.
"One has merely to cast a slur upon the poor--your dear poor of Farlingford--and you are up in arms in an instant.

But I am not the person to cast a slur, since I am one of the poor of Farlingford myself, and owe it to charity--to the charity of the rectory--that I can read and write." "But it came to you very naturally," observed Marvin, looking vaguely across the marshes to the roofs of the village, "to suggest that those who live in cottages are of a different race of beings--" He broke off, following his own thoughts in silence, as men soon learn to do who have had no companion by them capable of following whithersoever they may lead.
"Did it ?" asked Barebone, sharply.

He turned to look at his old friend and mentor with a sudden quick distress.

"I hope not.

I hope it did not sound like that.