The sight of their long chimneys and of the human beings groveling at the bottom of them for their daily bread gives me a heartache.

And the smell of them! O John, the smell of a mill sickens me!" "What do you mean, Harry Hatton ?" "I mean the smell of the vaporous rooms, and the boiling soapsuds, and the oil and cotton and the moisture from the hot flesh of a thousand men and women makes the best mill in England a sweating-house of this age of corruption." "Harry, who did you hear speak of cotton mills in that foolish way?
Some ranter at a street corner, I suppose.

Hatton mill brings you in good, honest money.

I think little of feelings that slander honest work and honest earnings." "John, my dear brother, you must listen to me.

I want to get out of this business, and Eli Naylor and Thomas Henry Naylor will rent my share of the mill." "Will they?
No! Not for all the gold in England! What are you asking me, Harry Hatton?
Do you think I will shame the good name of Hatton by associating it with scoundrels and blacklegs?
Your father kicked Hezekiah Naylor out of this mill twenty years ago.