GUY. You're looking for a way.
MARTIN. I'm looking at the great crowd your father saw.
GUY. Yes. You've brought your ragamuffins out, but you'll find it a tougher job to make them fight.
MARTIN. I don't intend to let those lads down there fight soldiers.
GUY (barring the way, though Martin doesn't move). And I don't intend to let you warn them. You're going to stay here.
MARTIN (limply). I can shout.
GUY. Why don't you? Shout till you brast your lungs, my lad. It won't carry downhill.
MARTIN (acquiescing very easily). Then you must do your butcher's handiwork. (With energy.) Butchers! Yes. That's just the word.
GUY. Ah! So you do know when you're beaten. Well, Kelsall, as you heard while you were eavesdropping, I've ten minutes to fill in. Ten minutes isn't long. There's no margin for lies.
MARTIN. The truth about your factory is the last thing you'll listen to.