"Fine lot o' marksmen you are, for a fact. Halfa dozen o' you bangin' away at a hundred yards, and not comin' close enough to a nigger to let him know you was shootin' at him. Now will you lay down and go to sleep? Here, Si, you take charge o' this gang and let me go to sleep. I've had enough o' them for one night.""I'm goin' to give you a lesson on the evils of gamblin', Pete, especially when you don't know how."
ONE:He was still worrying over it, and in spite of himself finding happiness, when the escape came, and the end."Then there is nothing to be done?" Dward asked.
THREE:"Sergeant," said one of the Lieutenants who happened to be passing, "keep your temper. You'll get along better. Don't squabble with your men."Monty resumed:
TWO:So, naturally, he was getting ready to go to the Social. Albin would be there, undoubtedly, some of the older men would be thereand a scattering of women would be there, too. (He remembered himself thinking, long ago before such a party: Tonight might be the night.) He shaved very carefully, faithful to memory, dressed in the best he could find in his closet, and went out, heading for the elevator."We're goin' to strike for our altars and our fires. Strike for the green graves of our sires. God and our native land," declaimed Monty Scruggs.
"Have the guerrillas guns that'll shoot through the sides of the cars?""You don't have to get defensive," Norma said. "Relax. Enjoy yourself. Join the party. Did I look at you as if you were a murderer of small children?"