He spoke for society, without animus and without sentiment; in a level voice marshalling fact and example, and moving unfalteringly toward the doom of the transgressor.

Turning to the case in hand, he wove strand by strand a rope for the guilty wretch in question; then laid it for the nonce aside and spoke of murder more deeply with a sombre force and a red glow of imagery.

Then followed three minutes of slow words which laid the finished and tested rope in the sheriff's hand.

Rand's voice ceased, and he lay staring at the poplar leaves without the window.
Cary laid the pen softly down, sat still and upright in his chair for a minute, then leaned back with a long breath.

"The poor wretch!" he said.
"Poor enough," assented Rand abruptly.