Is it not the fact, that, knowing him as you do, you could spend a pleasant hour enough with Mr.Scott, sitting next to him at dinner; whereas your blood would creep within you, your hair would stand on end, your voice would stick in your throat, if you were suddenly told that Bill Sykes was in your presence?
Poor Bill! I have a sort of love for him, as he walks about wretched with that dog of his, though I know that it is necessary to hang him.

Yes, Bill; I, your friend, cannot gainsay that, must acknowledge that.

Hard as the case may be, you must be hung; hung out of the way of further mischief; my spoons, my wife's throat, my children's brains, demand that.

You, Bill, and polecats, and such-like, must be squelched when we can come across you, seeing that you make yourself so universally disagreeable.

It is your ordained nature to be disagreeable; you plead silently.