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Morran said, not unkindly, that he looked "like a wull-cat glowerin' through a whin buss." "How are you, Dougal?" Dickson asked genially. "Is the peace of nature smoothing out the creases in your poor little soul?" "What's that ye say?" "Oh, just what I heard a man say in Glasgow. How have you got on?" "No' so bad. Your telegram was sent this mornin'. Auld Bill took it in to Kirkmichael.
Mony ane has come an' gane Sin' the time there was but ane: Ane was great an' strong, an' rent Rocks an' mountains as it went Afore the Lord, his trumpeter, Waukin' up the prophet's ear; Ane was like a steppin' soun' I' the mulberry taps abune; Them the Lord's ain steps did swing, Walkin' on afore his king; Ane lay doon like scoldit pup At his feet an' gatna up, Whan the word the maister spak Drave the wull-cat billows back; Ane gaed frae his lips, an' dang To the earth the sodger thrang; Ane comes frae his hert to mine, Ilka day, to mak it fine.
Then he was gripping warm flesh, tearing it like a wild beast, and his assailant with a cry slackened his hold. "Whatna wull-cat..." he began, but he got no further. The hoof of Wat's horse came down on his head and brained him. A splatter of blood fell on Sim's face. The man was half wild. His shelty had broken back for the hill, but his spear lay a yard off.
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