Dart Flynn, on the other hand, was designed by nature as a revolutionary, a man to stalk ahead of the bulk of humanity, grimly destroying obstacles, disturbing the sluggish existence of the herd, terrifying the contented ones into activity, born with a curse upon his brow, anathema to the mass of beings who always seek tranquillity and peace at any price. He was dour, dark visaged, built like the base of an oak tree, almost square. His body and face were fleshy and jealous of movement. His eyes were small. They moved horizontally. He was clean shaven, with a pink and white complexion, in spite of the fact that he was thirty-five and lived a hard life as a carter. In company, he hardly ever expressed an opinion on politics, religion, or on any other of the fundamental things that are discussed with avidity by revolutionaries who carry their lives in their hands. But in the secrecy of his own soul he thought deeply on these matters. In his little bare room in a lodging-house in Capel Street, he had several works on philosophy and economics. He had also worked out an amazing system of philosophy, based on the premise that each human being shares his soul with several different animals. The man who could discover and have constant intercourse with these animals would be supremely happy and immortal. Flynn had no moral sense. He hated all human beings who were not Communists. He loved all children and animals. He gave most of his wages to the hungry little ruffians in the street. He had no relatives or dependents. He was an old member of the Organization, highly respected for his courage, his fidelity and his taciturn habits. The third man, Laurence Curley, was of a totally different type from both his companions. He was also the most nervous and timorous. He was twenty-eight, pale faced, red haired, with a tall, thin frame, slightly consumptive-looking, on account of his hollow chest and stooping shoulders. His father had been a doctor in a country dispensary district. He had received a good education, but he early grew dissatisfied with life and refused to study for the Bar as his father wished. Instead he took a job in Dublin as a clerk, in order that he might plunge into the revolutionary movement. The theory of Revolutionary Communism interested him far more than working for a revolution. He gradually became a crank, hated by everybody. He was always finding fault and reading or discussing dull works on Socialism. His views were always the most extreme and blood-thirsty. He used to whisper excitedly, whenever he met a stranger who did not know him yet, or when the least industrial disturbance occurred: “The red flag will be hoisted any minute. Wait till you see. Then blood will spill. Wait till you see. Justice and liberty are bourgeois watchwords. The proletarian watchwords are revenge and bread. The proletariat knows how to deal out their deserts to the oppressors.” He had always this sort of patter.