“They won't go free, don't you fear. We'll get 'em.
Get SOMEBODY, anyhow. Much better hang wrong fellow than no fellow,' he added, unconsciously quoting. ”
“No one among the Europeans genuinely mourned for him. But that is not to say that they were not angry. On the contrary, for the moment they were almost mad with rage. For the unforgivable had happened--a white man had been killed."
“For in all this there was not a spark of love for him. If she wept and grovelled it was only for the position she had once had as his mistress, the idle life, the rich clothes and dominion over servants.”
"Like the crocodile, U Po Kyin had struck at the weakest spot. For, needless to say, this scene was U Po Kyin's doing. He had seen his chance, as usual, and tutored Ma Hla May for her part
with considerable care.”
“Ah, well, I could stop them if I chose, of course. But then I do not choose. I have my reasons. You see, Kin-Kin, you will please keep silence about this. This is, so to speak, my own rebellion. I arranged it myself.”
“When a girl's failed everywhere else she tries India, where every man's pining for the sight of a white woman. The Indian marriage-market, they call it. Meat market it ought to be.”
“Laundress?' he said. 'Laundress! I say, dammit, some mistake there! No such thing as a laundress in this country, y'know. Laundering work's all done by men. If you ask me--”
“Free speech is unthinkable. All other kinds of freedom are permitted.
You are free to be a drunkard, an idler, a coward, a backbiter, a fornicator. But you are not free to think for yourself.”
"Of gilt, shall we say? There's a kind of spurious good-fellowship between the English and this country. It's a tradition to booze together and swap meals and pretend to be friends, though we all hate each other like poison. Hanging together, we call it. It's a political necessity. Of course drink is what keep the machine going. We should all go mad and kill one another in a week if it weren't for that. There's a subject for one of your uplift essayists, doctor. Booze as the cement of empire."
"He's asking us to break all our rules and take a dear little nigger-boy into this
Club. Dear Dr Veraswami, for instance. Dr Very-slimy, I call him. That would be
a treat, wouldn't it? Little pot-bellied niggers breathing garlic in your face over the bridge-table. Christ, to think of it! We've got to hang together and put our foot down on this at once."