"I don't know. It's--it's--monstrous, it's--" He shrugged his shoulders
and pounded one hand into the palm of the other.
"You're _it_, Alix. King, god, what you will. For six years, I've built
you up--in _their_ papers, in _their_ minds. Clean, quiet, hard working
Alix. And humble. Oh, the humility I gave you has made me cry, at
times."
Manny said in mild protest, "You didn't have to build that angle much.
Alix is humble. Alix is--he's--he's--" And the articulate Manny had no
words.
Joe Nettleton's pale face was cynical. He said, "The way you feel is
the way they all feel--the black ones out there and the brown ones and
the yellow ones."
"They've got their rights," Alix said.
"Have they? Take a look at the first twenty rows, ringside. You'll
see what rights they have, word rights, paper rights. But not in the
hearts of men. Oh, the grapes of wrath are out there, Alix, beyond the
twentieth row. Haven't you any sense of history, of destiny?"
Alix didn't answer.