I am the kind of fellow who, when he takes hold of a question, never lets go.

The picture of Comrade Bannerman shaking his fist at the trainload of "plutes" lingered with me.

I still heard the voice of the knock-kneed reformer who envied my husky limbs.

The cry for bloody revolution was already in the air.

When would the mob be started and what would it do?
When Comrade Bannerman had robbed the rich and piled their corpses in a Caesar's column, would not the knock-kneed uplifter break my legs in making all men equal?
These men were moved by envy and they lusted for blood.