ENID. You don't know the state the men are in.
ANTHONY. I know it well enough.
ENID. You don't, Father; if you did, you would n't
ANTHONY. It's you who don't know the simple facts of the position.
What sort of mercy do you suppose you'd get if no one stood between
you and the continual demands of labour? This sort of mercy--
[He puts his hand up to his throat and squeezes it.] First would go
your sentiments, my dear; then your culture, and your comforts would
be going all the time!
ENID. I don't believe in barriers between classes.
ANTHONY. You--don't--believe--in--barriers--between the classes?
ENID. [Coldly.] And I don't know what that has to do with this
question.
ANTHONY. It will take a generation or two for you to understand.
ENID. It's only you and Roberts, Father, and you know it!
[ANTHONY thrusts out his lower lip.]
It'll ruin the Company.
ANTHONY. Allow me to judge of that.
ENID. [Resentfully.] I won't stand by and let poor Annie Roberts
suffer like this! And think of the children, Father! I warn you.
ANTHONY. [With a grim smile.] What do you propose to do?
ENID. That's my affair.
[ANTHONY only looks at her.]
ENID. [In a changed voice, stroking his sleeve.
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