It was Doyle who
found the weak place in his armor, and who taught him that when one
could not rise it was possible to pull others down.
But it was Woslosky, the Americanized Pole; who had put the thing
in a more appealing form.
"Our friend Doyle to the contrary," he said cynically, "we cannot
hope to contend against the inevitable. The few will always govern
the many, in the end. It will be the old cycle, autocracy, anarchy,
and then democracy; but out of this last comes always the one man
who crowns himself or is crowned. One of the people. You, or
myself, it may be."
The Pole had smiled and shrugged his shoulders.
Akers did not go to work immediately. He sat for some time, a
cigarette in his hand, his eyes slightly narrowed. He believed that
he could marry Lily Cardew. It would take time and all his skill,
but he believed he could do it. His mind wandered to Lily herself,
her youth and charm, her soft red mouth, the feel of her warm young
body in his arms. He brought himself up sharply. Where would such
a marriage take him?
He pondered the question pro and con. On the one hand the Cardews,
on the other, Doyle and a revolutionary movement.
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