The voice of the chairman clove his speech with a cold accent.

"Does anyone second this amendment?" he said. A tall, tired man,
with melancholy eyes and an American chin beard, was observed on
the back bench to be slowly rising to his feet. Gregory had been
screaming for some time past; now there was a change in his accent,
more shocking than any scream. "I end all this!" he said, in a
voice as heavy as stone.

"This man cannot be elected. He is a--"

"Yes," said Syme, quite motionless, "what is he?" Gregory's mouth
worked twice without sound; then slowly the blood began to crawl
back into his dead face. "He is a man quite inexperienced in our
work," he said, and sat down abruptly.

Before he had done so, the long, lean man with the American beard
was again upon his feet, and was repeating in a high American
monotone--

"I beg to second the election of Comrade Syme."

"The amendment will, as usual, be put first," said Mr. Buttons, the
chairman, with mechanical rapidity.

"The question is that Comrade Syme--"

Gregory had again sprung to his feet, panting and passionate.