McGinnis."
"Is it long yer stayin' here?" and the little man picked up his hat.
"I don't know," said Angela. "I hardly think so."
"Well, it's you they'll miss when ye're gone, Miss Kingsnorth. Faith
if all the English were like you this sort of thing couldn't
happen."
"We don't try to understand the people, doctor. We just govern them
blindly and ignorantly."
"Faith it's small blame to the English. We're a mighty hard race to
make head nor tail of. And that's a fact. Prayin' at Mass one minnit
and maimin' cattle the next. Cryin' salt tears at the bedside of a
sick child, and lavin' it to shoot a poor man in the ribs for darin'
to ask for his rint."
"They're not IRISHMEN," came from the sick bed.
"Faith and they are NOW. And it's small wondher the men who sit in
Whitehall in London trate them like savages."
"I've seen things since I've been here that would justify almost
anything!" cried Angela. "I've seen suffering no one in England
dreamt of. Misery, that London, with all its poverty and
wretchedness, could not compare with. Were I born in Ireland I
should be proud to stake my liberty and my life to protect my own
people from such horrible brutality."
The wounded man opened his eyes and looked full at Angela.
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