And when I think of me
going home to-night, with this document--signed, as I say, by persons
of title and supported by this influential body of rate-payers--and
look into his dumb eyes and think it might happen to my Dash to be
laid on a board in the interests of this so-called Research, and
there vivisected alive, then I say--"
"_It's a lie!_"
Foe was on his legs, and he fairly shouted it. Shell-shock?
_Phut!_--It exploded right at our feet below the platform. Farrell
came staggering back, right on top of us; but the reason may have
been partly that Jimmy had reached forward, too late, and gripped his
coat-tails. Of course the man's offence was unpardonable; but I
could hardly recognise Jack's face, so drawn it was and twisted in
white-hot hate.
There was silence while you might count five, perhaps. The audience,
taken right aback for that space, had begun to rise and crane
forward. "Who is it?"--you could almost hear the question starting
to run.
Then again, for a few seconds, things happened just as they do in
rowdy public meetings. While the Chairman thumped the table, Farrell
wrenched his coat-tails from Jimmy's grip and stepped to the edge of
the platform.
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