to you ?" I was growing angry.
He shook his head.

"I do not ask you to prove it to me.

I ask you to prove it to yourself." "I know," I said.
"You know nothing," was his rude reply.
"There, there, children," father said soothingly.
"I don't care--" I began indignantly, but Ernest interrupted.
"I understand you have money, or your father has, which is the same thing--money invested in the Sierra Mills." "What has that to do with it ?" I cried.
"Nothing much," he began slowly, "except that the gown you wear is stained with blood.

The food you eat is a bloody stew.

The blood of little children and of strong men is dripping from your very roof-beams.
I can close my eyes, now, and hear it drip, drop, drip, drop, all about me." And suiting the action to the words, he closed his eyes and leaned back in his chair.