"He's going to do it! The other—he's just talking yet. He's not ready yet, even if he wants to do it. But he—he's ready and he's going to do it."
"Yes," I said; there was no denying it. He—the he who was ready and would do it—of course was Bane. The other was Cawder. There was no confusion between us; we felt the same thing. Cawder, the cripple, had first conceived the frightful enterprise. Broken in body and inverted in soul by his awful injury, he had found vent for his tremendous energies in a grandiloquent dream. His cynicism, consequent to his injury, became increased in his partnership with gunmen, blackmailers, bootleggers and the gentry who enriched and empowered themselves through terrorizing with bombs. Not real bombs, as Cawder had said; only home-made-grenades.
Naturally, having been a flyer, he knew of real bombs; and his mind multiplied the effect
