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His lip curled in a swift sneer. ¡¡¡¡'I have worked, I do work,' I cried impetuously, as though he were my judge and I required vindication, and at the same time very much aware of my arrant idiocy in discussing the subject at all. ¡¡¡¡'For your living?' ¡¡¡¡There was something so imperative and masterful about him that I was quite beside myself- 'rattled,' as Furuseth would have termed it, like a quaking child before a stern schoolmaster. ¡¡¡¡'Who feeds you?' was his next question. ¡¡¡¡'I have an income,' I answered stoutly, and could have bitten my tongue the next instant. 'All of which,
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you will pardon my observing, has nothing whatsoever to do with what I wish to see you about.' ¡¡¡¡But he disregarded my protest. ¡¡¡¡'Who earned it? Eh? I thought so. Your father. You stand on dead men's legs. You've never had any of your own. You couldn't walk alone between two sunrises and hustle the meat for your belly for three meals. Let me see your hand.' ¡¡¡¡His tremendous, dormant strength must have stirred swiftly and accurately, or I must have slept a moment, for before I knew it he had stepped two paces forward, gripped my right