And they fear nothing, and they respect nothing, the young don’t. The older men are that patient and good, really, they let the women take everything. And this is what it leads to. The women are positive demons. But the lads aren’t like their dads. They’re sacrificing nothing, they aren’t: they’re all for self. If you tell them they ought to be putting a bit by, for a home, they say: That’ll keep, that will, I’m goin’ t’ enjoy mysen while I can. Owt else’ll keep!⁠—Oh, they’re rough an’ selfish, if you like. Everything falls on the older man, an’ it’s a bad lookout all round.”

Clifford began to get a new idea of his own village. The place had always frightened him, but he had thought it more or less stable. Now⁠—?

“Is there much socialism, bolshevism, among the people?” he asked.