If only people would take
that for granted and go on to something worth while."
"Are things any better in Medchester just now?" she asked.
"On the surface, yes, but on the surface only. More factories are
running half-time, but after all what does that mean? It's slow
starvation. A man can't live and keep a family on fifteen shillings a
week, even if his wife earns a little. He can't do it in a dignified
manner, and with cleanliness and health. That is what he has a right
to. That is what the next generation will demand. He should have room
to expand. Cleanliness, air, fresh food. Every man and woman who is
born into the world has a God-given right to these, and there are
millions in Medchester, Manchester, and all the great cities who are
denied all three."
"So all Henslow's great schemes, his Royal Commissions, his Protection
Duties, his great Housing Bill, have come to nothing then?" she
remarked.
"To less than nothing," he answered, gloomily. "The man was a fraud.
He is not worth attempting to bully. He is a puppet politician of a
type that ought to have been dead and buried generations ago.
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