A Ruthless Politician on Ousting the Prime Minister

Not feeling guilty, I hope. If you have pangs of pity, crush them now. Grind them

under your heel like old cigar butts. I've done the country a favor. He didn't

have the brain or the heart or the stomach to rule a country like Great

Britain. A nice enough man, but there was no bottom to him. His deepest need was

that people should like him. An admirable trait, that, in a Spaniel or a whore. Not,

I think, in a Prime Minister. And we've done him a favor, too, if you did but

know it. He was in the trap and screaming from the moment he took office. We've

simply put the poor bastard out of his agony. After life's fitful fever, he

sleeps well. So let's not indulge ourselves in any squeamishness. All right?

Because this is just the start. You saw them. You saw their eyes are glitter

around the table. Samuels, Woolton, Harold L, Mackenzie. And every one of them will

have to understand that I have their measure. That I put the stick about. I

watch them jump.