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When we have drawn the sword, we are enjoined to smite the ungodly, though he be our neighbour, and the man of power and cruelty, though he were of our own kindred, and the friend of our own bosom...
Craigengelt rose, went a tiptoe to the door, peeped out, shut it carefully – clapped his tarnished gold-laced hat on one side of his head, took his glass in one hand, and touching the hilt of his hanger with the other, toasts, ‘The King over the water’.