John Buchan,
Midwinter (Buchan) — Chapter XV.
(1923)
“ Half raising himself from his chair, he shook his fist at the speaker."Sir," he cried, "you are worse than a rogue, you are a canting rogue. You would have driven twenty honest men into unmerited exile by your infamies and had no pity on them, but you crave pity for yourself when you are justly banished. I have sympathy with many kinds of rascal, but none with yours. Your crimes are the greater because you pretend to sensibility. With you, sir, patriotism is the last refuge of the scoundrel."Alastair picked the saddle-bag from below the table, and emptied its remaining contents in the fire. ”
