"Let them, I say! They die off, now, twice or thrice as fast as the better classes, but what difference does it make?
Great breeders, those people are.

The more they die, the faster they multiply.

Let them go their way and do as they like, so long as they don't interfere with _us_! The only really important factor to reckon on is this, that with an impoverished air to breathe, their rebellious spirit will die out--the dogs!--and we'll have no more talk of social revolution.

We'll draw their teeth, all right enough; or rather, twist the bowstring round their damned necks so tight that all their energy, outside of work, will be consumed in just keeping alive.

Revolution, then?
Forget it, Waldron! We'll kill _that_ viper once and for all!" "Good idea, Flint," the other replied, with approbation.