'They say,' he said, 'a nobleman fighting the odds is a sight for the gods: and I wouldn't yield an inch of ground.

It's no use calling things by fine names--the country's ruined by cowardice.

Poursuivez! I cry.

Haro! at them! The biggest hart wins in the end.

I haven't a doubt about that.
And I haven't a doubt we carry the tonnage.' 'There's the people,' sighed Nevil, entangled in his uncle's haziness.
'What people ?' 'I suppose the people of Great Britain count, sir.' 'Of course they do; when the battle's done, the fight lost and won.' 'Do you expect the people to look on, sir ?' 'The people always wait for the winner, boy Nevil.' The young fellow exclaimed despondingly, 'If it were a race!' 'It's like a race, and we're confoundedly out of training,' said Everard.
There he rested.