Only what was the use of trying to fight injustice if one always caught colds in one's head and was sick after a few days' tramping? Colds, sore throats—well, that was what a thousand labourers, underpaid and underfed, must be feeling ... feeling ... that dull ache all down one's side ... feeling....
Mary Robson, a large, rather comely woman, standing in the doorway with a flood of orange light behind her ... her hands, rosily transparent in front of the candle flame ... the smell of embrocation ... "consuming by disease labour-power itself." ... "Mr. Rossitur, this is my husband." ... Queens—kings ... queens with smiling faces in orange candlelight....
Because he had a cold, David snored a little in his sleep.
Chapter IX
THE ENEMIES OF SOCIETY
"That's all very well, but when you've said everything you know the fact remains that you're not a farmer and never will be. You seem to have spent your time at a large country-house where you were as far removed from the agricultural classes as though you were in the moon, and at Oxford where as far as I can make out you pretend to know something about everything without having learnt it. And you've read a few books by Germans and cranks, none of whom have done more than look into a farm from across the hedge from the high-road. And now you come to Anderby, and pretend you know more about farming than John and me, who've done it all our lives, and our fathers before us for hundreds of years! Just hold the end of this sheet, will you?"
Mary was turning linen sheets "sides to middle" and arguing with David about the nationalization of land. David took the end of the sheet solemnly while her scissors slipped along the middle.
"It all depends what you call knowledge," he said. "You only know what your villagers are. I know what they might be. Perfect knowledge recognizes capacity as well as achievement. That's why I know more about it than you do."
Clip! Mary's scissors cut through the hem near David's fingers.