"Why not?
Why shouldn't we? What's the 'arm? I believe in discussing things
myself. I do really. I've said to myself a long way back. 'Well,
now, the first time I get 'im alone I'll ask him why 'e does dislike
me. I've always been civil to him,' I says to myself, 'and yet I
can't please him--so I'll just ask him straight.'"
Martin shrugged his shoulders; he wanted to leave the room, but
something in Thurston held him there.
"I suppose we aren't the sort to get on together. We haven't got
enough in common," he said clumsily.
"I don't know about that," Thurston said in a friendly
conversational tone. "I shouldn't wonder if we've got more in common
than you'd fancy. Now I'll tell you right out, I like you. I've
always liked you, and what's more I always shall. Whatever you do--"
"I don't care," broke in Martin angrily, "whether you like me or
not."
"No, I know you don't," Thurston continued quietly. "And I know what
you think of me, too. This is your idea of me, I reckon--that I'm a
pushing, uneducated common bounder that's just using this religious
business to shove himself along with; that's kidding all these poor
old ladies that 'e believes in their bunkum, and is altogether about
as low-down a fellow as you're likely to meet with.
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