They were one bloodhungry entity.

I would as soon be gored by my ain bull that gangs on Dalmakittenleys, as have ill luck, and sorrow, and mischance, drilled and dibbled into my frail body by the spiteful een of an auld hag.

It is absurd in any sojourner at the Cape priding himself upon his whipmanship, for every countryman can fan along six or eight horses with as much nicety as a mail-coachman his favourite team: […]

Crime doesn’t pay.