Here was the superlative opportunity to make a generous and lasting settlement from a position of strength; but the pieds noirs, like the Israelis, and from not altogether dissimilar motives, were to muff it.
Bill had relapsed into a sort of waking dream. He sat frowning sombrely, lost to the world.
[…] I had to wring your ears to make you do any work.
Fareweel, my rhyme-compoſing billie! Your native ſoil was right ill-willie; But may ye flouriſh like a lily, Now bonilie! I'll toaſt ye in my hindmoſt gillie, Tho' owre the Sea!
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