There is sin in using this creature and I am expiating it." To this strange outburst, Courtier at first made no reply.
"You've been working too hard," he said at last, "you're off your balance.

After all, the mob's made up of men like you and me." "No, Courtier, the mob is not made up of men like you and me.

If it were it would not be the mob." "It looks," Courtier answered gravely, "as if you had no business in this galley.

I've always steered clear of it myself." "You follow your feelings.

I have not that happiness." So saying, Miltoun turned to the door.
Courtier's voice pursued him earnestly.
"Drop your politics--if you feel like this about them; don't waste your life following whatever it is you follow; don't waste hers!" But Miltoun did not answer.
It was a wondrous still night, when, a few minutes before twelve, with his forehead bandaged under his hat, the champion of lost causes left the hotel and made his way towards the Grammar School for the declaration of the poll.