Under the Volcano

by Malcolm Lowry

misfits, all good for nothing, cowards, baboons, meek wolves, parasites, every man jack of them, people afraid to face their own responsibilities, fight their own fight, ready to go anywhere, as Tolstoy well perceived—” “Quitters?” Hugh said. “Didn’t Katamasov or whoever he was believe that the action of those volunteers was nevertheless an expression of the whole soul of the Russian people?—Mind you, I appreciate that a diplomatic corps which merely remains in San Sebastián hoping Franco will win quickly instead of returning to Madrid to tell the British Government the truth of what’s really going on in Spain can’t possibly consist of quitters!” “Isn’t your desire to fight for Spain, for fiddledee, for Timbuctoo, for China, for hypocrisy, for bugger all, for any hokery pokery that a few moose-headed idiot sons choose to call freedom—of course there is nothing of the sort, really—” “If—” “If you’ve really read War and Peace, as you claim you have, why haven’t you the sense to profit by it, I repeat?”