'I gave him the chance of life, and he laughed at me.

He won't get far on his road home.' This was pleasant hearing for me, but I scarcely thought of myself.

I was consumed with a passion of fury against the murdering yellow devil.
With Laputa I was not angry; he was an open enemy, playing a fair game.
But my fingers itched to get at the Portugoose--that double-dyed traitor to his race.

As I thought of my kindly old friends, lying butchered with their kinsfolk out in the bush, hot tears of rage came to my eyes.

Perfect love casteth out fear, the Bible says; but, to speak it reverently, so does perfect hate.