"You damn little sneak! I'll shut yer mouth!" "Let him go," Leach commanded.
"Not on yer life," was the angry retort.
Leach never changed his position on the edge of the bunk.

"Let him go, I say," he repeated; but this time his voice was gritty and metallic.
The Irishman wavered.

I made to step by him, and he stood aside.

When I had gained the ladder, I turned to the circle of brutal and malignant faces peering at me through the semi-darkness.

A sudden and deep sympathy welled up in me.