Now Bruce was there, with the old badger watching
How sick one word could make him. So it was spoken—
“Daniel.” And the kill was on.
A soldier,
Footing it home from Canada, stood by
With a gourd dipper, dripping as he drank.
He listened, lounging, and his bushy eyes
Burned at the accusation. When Bruce faltered—
And he did falter, for his hate of Daniel,
Less than the sore so sudden in his breast,