But, I say, isn't it desperately comical that one human being can hate and revile another because they think differently about the origin of the universe?
Couldn't you roar with laughter when you've thought over it for a moment?
"You be damned for your theory of irregular verbs!" is nothing to it.' And he uttered his croak of mirth, whilst Peak, with distorted features, laughed in rage and scorn.
They had crossed the open space in front of the College buildings, and were issuing into the highway, when a voice very unlike those that were wont to sound within the academic precincts (or indeed in the streets of Kingsmill) made sudden demand upon Peak's attention.
'Thet you, Godwin?
Thoughts I, it must be 'im! 'Ow goes it, my bo-oy?
You 'ardly reckonise me, I dessay, and I couldn't be sure as it was you till I'd 'ed a good squint at yer.

I've jest called round at your lodgin's, and they towld me as you was at the Collige.' He who thus accosted the student, with the most offensive purity of Cockney accent, was a man of five-and-forty, dressed in a new suit of ready-made tweeds, the folding crease strongly marked down the front of the trousers and the coat sleeves rather too long.

His face bore a strong impress of vulgarity, but at the same time had a certain ingenuousness, a self-absorbed energy and simplicity, which saved it from being wholly repellent; the brow was narrow, the eyes small and bright, and the coarse lips half hid themselves under a struggling reddish growth.

In these lineaments lurked a family resemblance to Godwin Peak, sufficient to support a claim of kindred which at this moment might have seemed improbable.

At the summons of recognition Godwin stood transfixed; his arms fell straight, and his head drew back as if to avoid a blow.