"But you can't win, Anstruther. You can't beat the Father. If he wished it, he could loose upon you at this instant the Deluge that he turned into Emporia. And these poor, stupid and deluded Sons would never awaken from their torpor."
"It is not the loss of his Sons that stays him, O'Hara."
"Nor would it be you or I, were we to endanger him. He is watching you now, he hears what you are saying, and if he believed—"
"I know all this, O'Hara," said Anstruther wearily, and sat down upon the cushioned bunk, now cupping his zealot's face within his soft, small hands. "I know Stephen Bryce and his power. Yes, he'd destroy me instantly if he believed that I endangered him. But he does not think that I do. His faith in himself is quite as absolute as my abhorrence of what he has done to these people. Look at them, O'Hara—they're men! Or they were men, their fathers were men, before Stephen Bryce stamped out their souls. And they can be men again."
"If you continue to lead them?"
"Yes, if I—if anyone continues who believes in them."
"Is this the reason for your revolt against the Father?"
"Could there be another reason?"
O'Hara nodded soberly. "You, too, might aspire to be the Father."
"And if I were—"