And the judge had pursued him with a monstrous, relishing gaiety, horrible to be conceived, a trait for nightmares.

It is one thing to spear a tiger, another to crush a toad; there are aesthetics even of the slaughter-house; and the loathsomeness of Duncan Jopp enveloped and infected the image of his judge.
Archie passed by his friends in the High Street with incoherent words and gestures.

He saw Holyrood in a dream, remembrance of its romance awoke in him and faded; he had a vision of the old radiant stories, of Queen Mary and Prince Charlie, of the hooded stag, of the splendour and crime, the velvet and bright iron of the past; and dismissed them with a cry of pain.

He lay and moaned in the Hunter's Bog, and the heavens were dark above him and the grass of the field an offence.

"This is my father," he said.