'Pooh! why didn't you mention that before?
Why, Sir, he's an old friend, and you _could_ not pleasantly ask him to volunteer to bare his waypon against the boosom of his friend.

No, Sir, shivalry is the handmaid of Christian charity, and honour walks hand in hand with the human heart!' With this noble sentiment he bowed and shook Nutter's cold, hard hand, and then Puddock's plump little white paw.
You are not to suppose that Pat Mahoney, of Muckafubble, was a poltroon; on the contrary, he had fought several shocking duels, and displayed a remarkable amount of savagery and coolness; but having made a character, he was satisfied therewith.

They may talk of fighting for the fun of it, liking it, delighting in it; don't believe a word of it.

We all hate it, and the hero is only he who hates it least.' 'Ugh, I can't stand it any longer; take me out of this, some of you,' said O'Flaherty, wiping the damp from his red face.

'I don't think there's ten minutes' life in me.' '_De profundis conclamavi_,' murmured fat father Roach; 'lean upon me, Sir.' 'And me,' said little Toole.
'For the benefit of your poor soul, my honey, just say you forgive Mr.
Nutter before you leave the field,' said the priest quite sincerely.
'Anything at all, Father Roach,' replied the sufferer; 'only don't bother me.' 'You forgive him then, aroon ?' said the priest.
'Och, bother! forgive him, to be sure I do.