“Who is speaking there—?” he asked. “What lousy swine is speaking there—?”
“Open the door, Grot....”
“The devil I will—!”
“... and give up the machine!”
“The machine—?” said Grot, “the—my machine?”
“Yes,” said the quiet voice.
The guard of the Heart-machine began to shake. His was a quite blue face, in which the eyes stood like whitish balls. The mob, which was throwing itself, as a buffer, against the ringing door yelled, hoarse with yelling:
“The machines must die—to Hell with them!
Death! Death! Death to the machines!”
“Who is speaking there?” asked the man, so loudly that his words were a scream.