Summary

Portrait of John Buchan 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.
”
Source: Wikisource

Portrait of John Buchan John Buchan,  Midwinter (Buchan) — Chapter XV. (1923)

“ The Spainneach entered with Hay on his heels. Kyd regarded them with puzzled eyes, as if striving to recapture a memory.
"I present to you Mr. Charles Hay of Tinnis," said Alastair, "who commands a troop in His Highness's Lowland Horse. The other gentleman is of the Nameless Clan. Sit you down, sirs."
Kyd obeyed, but his eyes were not on the food and wine, for he was thinking hard. He had a stout heart and had often faced peril, so he forced his mind to consider the situation's possibilities, when a weaker man would have been a-flutter.
”
Source: Wikisource

Portrait of John Buchan John Buchan,  Midwinter (Buchan) — Chapter XV. (1923)

“ The voice was gentle and soothing, but it seemed to wake acute terror in one hearer.
"Men die and their memories, but when all of us are dust the Bog-blitters will still cry on Lammermuir. I think that Mr. Kyd has heard them before at Greyhouses. He will not desire to hear them again."
The Spainneach had risen and stood beside Kyd, and from the back of the room two of the Spoonbills advanced like guardian shadows. The big man in the rich clothes had shrunk to a shapeless bundle in the chair, his face grey and his eyes hot and tragic.
”
Source: Wikisource

Get perspective with Kwize: daily news enlightened by great literature