'Now, Mr. Crisparkle,' said Mr. Honeythunder, turning his chair
half round towards him when they were alone, and squaring his arms
with his hands on his knees, and his brows knitted, as if he added,
I am going to make short work of YOU: 'Now, Mr. Crisparkle, we
entertain different views, you and I, sir, of the sanctity of human
life.'
'Do we?' returned the Minor Canon.
'We do, sir?'
'Might I ask you,' said the Minor Canon: 'what are your views on
that subject?'
'That human life is a thing to be held sacred, sir.'
'Might I ask you,' pursued the Minor Canon as before: 'what you
suppose to be my views on that subject?'
'By George, sir!' returned the Philanthropist, squaring his arms
still more, as he frowned on Mr. Crisparkle: 'they are best known
to yourself.'
'Readily admitted. But you began by saying that we took different
views, you know. Therefore (or you could not say so) you must have
set up some views as mine. Pray, what views HAVE you set up as
mine?'
'Here is a man - and a young man,' said Mr. Honeythunder, as if
that made the matter infinitely worse, and he could have easily
borne the loss of an old one, 'swept off the face of the earth by a
deed of violence. What do you call that?'
'Murder,' said the Minor Canon.
'What do you call the doer of that deed, sir?
'A murderer,' said the Minor Canon.
'I am glad to hear you admit so much, sir,' retorted Mr.
Honeythunder, in his most offensive manner; 'and I candidly tell
you that I didn't expect it.
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