It is seven years, thought Sandy, since I betrayed this tiresome woman. What does she mean by “betray”? She was looking at the hills as if to see there the first and unbetrayable Miss Brodie, indifferent to criticism as a crag.

When the professor turned out to be too warped even for my tastes — consensual knifeplay is one thing; drunken gunplay quite another […]

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As ye were nine year less than thretty, / Sweet ane an' twenty!