Here Squealer looked very sly. That, he said, was Comrade Napoleon's cunning.
He had seemed to oppose the windmill, simply as a manoeuvre to get rid of Snowball, who was a dangerous character and a bad influence.
Now that Snowball was out of the way, the plan could go forward without his interference.
This, said Squealer, was something called tactics. He repeated a number of times, “Tactics, comrades, tactics!”
skipping round and whisking his tail with a merry laugh.
The animals were not certain what the word meant, but Squealer spoke so persuasively,
and the three dogs who happened to be with him growled so threateningly, that they accepted his explanation without further questions.
VI
All that year the animals worked like slaves. But they were happy in their work;
they grudged no effort or sacrifice, well aware that everything that they did was for the benefit of themselves
and those of their kind who would come after them, and not for a pack of idle, thieving human beings.
Throughout the spring and summer they worked a sixty-hour week,
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