"Here is the Roman commissary!" "Ill-fathered son of an Ishmaelite!" a Tyrian said to this jester.
"That you should make sport of Judea's humiliation!" The shepherd who had paused amid his whirlpool of sheep wisely held his peace.

There was a division of sentiment here that were better not aggravated.

He halted long enough for the road to clear below him and then descended into the valley and crossed to the low meadow on the opposite side.
His scamper of sheep flocked into the sedge, parting around the prostrate figure by a circle of coals now dead, and plunged into the pasture.

The boy inspected the earth and shook his head.

It was too wet for a long stay, inviting as it seemed.