's where you get it. Policemen, priests, prisoners. Cab'net
Ministers, any one who leads an unnatural life, see how it twists 'em.
You can't suppress a thing without it swellin' you up in another place.

MR MARCH. And the moral of that is--?

BLY. Follow your instincts. You see--if I'm not keepin' you--now that
we ain't got no faith, as we were sayin' the other day, no Ten
Commandments in black an' white--we've just got to be 'uman bein's--
raisin' Cain, and havin' feelin' hearts. What's the use of all these
lofty ideas that you can't live up to? Liberty, Fraternity, Equality,
Democracy--see what comes o' fightin' for 'em! 'Ere we are-wipin' out
the lot. We thought they was fixed stars; they was only comets--hot air.
No; trust 'uman nature, I say, and follow your instincts.

MR MARCH. We were talking of your daughter--I--I--

BLY. There's a case in point. Her instincts was starved goin' on for
three years, because, mind you, they kept her hangin' about in prison
months before they tried her. I read your article, and I thought to
meself after I'd finished: Which would I feel smallest--if I was--the
Judge, the Jury, or the 'Ome Secretary? It was a treat, that article!
They ought to abolish that in'uman "To be hanged by the neck until she is
dead." It's my belief they only keep it because it's poetry; that and
the wigs--they're hard up for a bit of beauty in the Courts of Law.
Excuse my 'and, sir; I do thank you for that article.

He extends his wiped hand, which MR MARCH shakes with the feeling
that he is always shaking Mr. BLY's hand.

MR MARCH. But, apropos of your daughter, Mr Bly. I suppose none of us
ever change our natures.

BLY. [Again responding to the appeal that he senses to his philosophical
vein] Ah! but 'oo can see what our natures are? Why, I've known people
that could see nothin' but theirselves and their own families, unless
they was drunk. At my daughter's trial, I see right into the lawyers,
judge and all. There she was, hub of the whole thing, and all they could
see of her was 'ow far she affected 'em personally--one tryin' to get 'er
guilty, the other tryin' to get 'er off, and the judge summin' 'er up
cold-blooded.

MR MARCH. But that's what they're paid for, Mr Bly.

BLY. Ah! But which of 'em was thinkin' "'Ere's a little bit o' warm
life on its own. 'Ere's a little dancin' creature. What's she feelin',
wot's 'er complaint?"--impersonal-like. I like to s