lism,
collectivism. This is the statement of a law, not an empty prophecy."

The disdainful pout of Comrade Ossipon's thick lips accentuated the negro
type of his face.

"Nonsense," he said calmly enough. "There is no law and no certainty.
The teaching propaganda be hanged. What the people knows does not
matter, were its knowledge ever so accurate. The only thing that matters
to us is the emotional state of the masses. Without emotion there is no
action."

He paused, then added with modest firmness:

"I am speaking now to you scientifically--scientifically--Eh? What did
you say, Verloc?"

"Nothing," growled from the sofa Mr Verloc, who, provoked by the
abhorrent sound, had merely muttered a "Damn."

The venomous spluttering of the old terrorist without teeth was heard.

"Do you know how I would call the nature of the present economic
conditions? I would call it cannibalistic. That's what it is! They are
nourishing their greed on the quivering flesh and the warm blood of the
people--nothing else."

Stevie swallowed the terrifying statement with an audible gulp, and at
once, as though it had been swift poison, sank limply in a sitting
posture on the steps of the kitchen door.

Michaelis gave no sign of having heard anything. His lips seemed glued
together for good; not a quiver passed over his heavy cheeks. With
troubled eyes he looked for his round, hard hat, and put it on his round
head. His round and obese body seemed to float low between the chairs
under the sharp elbow of Karl Yundt. The old terrorist, raising an
uncertain and clawlike hand, gave a swaggering tilt to a black felt
sombrero shading the hollows and ridges of his wasted face. He got in
motion slowly, striking the floor with his stick at every step. It was
rather an affair to get him out of the house because, now and then, he
would stop, as if to think, and did not offer to move again till impelled
forward by Michaelis. The gentle apostle grasped his arm with brotherly
care; and behind them, his hands in his pockets, the robust Ossipon
yawned vaguely. A blue cap with a patent leather peak set well at the
back of his yellow bush of hair gave him the aspect of a Norwegian sailor
bored with the world after a thundering spree. Mr Verloc saw his guests
off the premises, attending them bareheaded, his heavy overcoat hanging
open, his eyes on the ground.

He closed the door behind their backs with restrained violence, turned
the ke