If I only knew the man--if I only had him under my hand! Harry's face became grey through the tan; he sat forward in his chair, with a sinewy arm thrust down between his knees, and his hand closed as if upon a throat.

His mother touched his shoulder.
'Violence can only work mischief, my boy.

Use what intelligence you have--only that can help.

If we can save poor Frank and clear his name, we may leave vengeance to the law.' 'Yes, mother, you are right, but I am no saint.

I hate my enemies, an' it is maddening not to know who you hate--who to hit at.' 'That may be so, Henry, but passion will only blind you.