L. ANNE. He never says that he always says he'd have done anything for you!
JAMES. Well—that's the same thing.
L. ANNE. It isn't—it's the opposite. What is class hatred, James?
JAMES. [Wisely] Ah! A lot o' people thought when the war was over there'd be no more o' that. [He sniggers] Used to amuse me to read in the papers about the wonderful unity that was comin'. I could ha' told 'em different.
L. ANNE. Why should people hate? I like everybody.
JAMES. You know such a lot o' people, don't you?
L. ANNE. Well, Daddy likes everybody, and Mother likes everybody, except the people who don't like Daddy. I bar Miss Stokes, of course; but then, who wouldn't?
JAMES. [With a touch of philosophy] That's right—we all bars them that tries to get something out of us.
L. ANNE. Who do you bar, James?
JAMES. Well—[Enjoying the luxury of thought]—Speaking generally, I bar everybody that looks down their noses at me. Out there in the trenches, there'd come a shell, and orf'd go some orficer's head, an' I'd think: That might ha' been me—we're all equal in the sight o' the stars. But when I got home again among the torfs, I says to meself: Out there, ye know, you filled a hole as well as me; but here you've put it on again, with mufti.