[There is a silence.]

BANNING. [Simply] I was just thinkin' of those poor fellows in the
Pass.

MORE. I can see them, as well as you, Banning. But, imagine! Up in
our own country--the Black Valley--twelve hundred foreign devils dead
and dying--the crows busy over them--in our own country, our own
valley--ours--ours--violated. Would you care about "the poor
fellows" in that Pass?--Invading, stealing dogs! Kill them--kill
them! You would, and I would, too!

The passion of those words touches and grips as no arguments
could; and they are silent.

MORE. Well! What's the difference out there? I'm not so inhuman as
not to want to see this disaster in the Pass wiped out. But once
that's done, in spite of my affection for you; my ambitions, and
they're not few; [Very low] in spite of my own wife's feeling, I
must be free to raise my voice against this war.

BANNING. [Speaking slowly, consulting the others, as it were, with
his eyes] Mr. More, there's no man I respect more than yourself. I
can't tell what they'll say down there when we go back; but I, for
one, don't feel it in me to take a hand in pressing you farther
against your faith.

SHELDER. We don't deny that--that you have a case of sorts.

WACE. No--surely.