Diplomacy was still drawing out its lengthened thread — still weaving its long and dilatory web — still Penelopizing — when the same McLeod, the boaster in Canada of his active share in this triple crime of midnight murder, arson, and robbery, crosses over to the American side and repeats, in the hearing of Americans, and on the spot which had been the scene of his exploit, the audacious boast of his participation in it.

One who causes another's death by culpable negligence is guilty of second-degree manslaughter.

I pull her [a car] back into third, boot her up to sixty and the outreach bungalows go to blur. The gearbox screams blue murder, but we're getting there, and the newspaper kid stops, turns on his BMX. He fades to a speck in the mirror until we are once again on our own, […]

She 'army volunteered' me, he says. She said, 'You called; you're on the committee.'