'It must have been a bit of stone that flew from my mattock.

I couldn't help it, you know.' 'Couldn't help it! A fine story! What do you go breaking the rock for--the very rock upon which the city stands ?' 'Look at your friend's forehead,' said Curdie.

'See what a lump he has got on it with falling over that same stone.' 'What's that to my window ?' cried the barber.

'His forehead can mend itself; my poor window can't.' 'But he's the king's baker,' said Curdie, more and more surprised at the man's anger.
'What's that to me?
This is a free city.

Every man here takes care of himself, and the king takes care of us all.