Look ye, friends, upon this abominable collar of Satan; this ruff of fine linen, all smeared in the devil's own liquor, starch.

Her vanity is an offence in the nostrils of God's people." As he spoke he stretched forth his hand and caught in his clawlike grasp the dainty white ruff that encircled Madge's neck.

When I saw his act, my first impulse was to run him through, and I drew my sword half from its scabbard with that purpose.

But he was not the sort of a man upon whom I could use my blade.

He was hardly more than a boy--a wild, half-crazed fanatic, whose reason, if he had ever possessed any, had been lost in the Charybdis of his zeal.