And it was because we did stand up again and came through this desperate struggle that this great wealth has become ours. … I guess we’ve got to grin and bear it.”
That was how it was always written in the history books, and so he supposed it was true. But it did not help to ease in the least the deep-rooted grudge he felt. He did not say anything, however, but only rubbed his stomach, which was as hard as a board. And in his thumb he felt a tingling like a weak electric shock. It was a nasty feeling. Bringing the thumb up to the level of his face, he rubbed it with his other hand.
They had all finished dinner and had drawn round the one cracked, rickety old stove set in the middle of the room. When their bodies became a little warm they started to steam. The strong fishy smell from the crabs almost choked them.
“I bloody well don’t understand anything about the reasons, but I only know I’m not anxious to be killed!”
“Nor me either!”
A feeling of gloom descended on the company. They were on the road to being killed! They all began to feel irritable without their irritation having any definite focus.
“A–a–are we b–b–bloody well going to let ourselves b–b–be killed?” blurted out one fisherman in a loud voice, impatient at his own slowness of speech. His face was scarlet and the veins stood out on his forehead.
For a moment no one spoke. It was as if something had given a sudden pull at their vitals.
