"Look there"-- she pointed toward the pile of dead birds--"hundreds of these killed, for money, for sport.

It _isn't_ sport.

You had all these birds once, you owned them." And there she hit a large truth, with a woman's guess, although none of us had paused to consider it so before.
"The law, Miss Ellen," began Judge Reeves, clearing his throat, "allows the reducing to possession of animals _feroe naturoe_, that is to say, of wild nature, and ancient custom sanctions it." "They were already _reduced_" she flashed.

"The sport was in getting them the first time, not in butchering them afterward." Stevenson and Williams rubbed their chins and looked at each other.

As for me, I was looking at the girl; for it seemed to me that never in my life had I seen one so beautiful.
Her hair, reddish brown in the sunlight, was massed up by the binding veil, which she pushed back now from her face.