Scotsman Quotes

It has never been hard to tell the difference between a Scotsman with a grievance and a ray of sunshine.

The Oxford English Dictionary is the greatest work of reference ever written, and it’s largely the result of a Scotsman who left school at fourteen, and a criminally insane American.

Cupcakes are too dainty for a Scotsman. Give him one, and he’ll ask why didn’t you shoot the wee cake’s parents instead and serve that.

It is never difficult to distinguish between with a Scotsman with a grievance and a ray of sunshine.

I'll talk to him before I go," Carlos grumbled. "And what about the girls?" Toni asked. "They need you, Carlos." "They need a mother!" Carlos yelled. "And I need a mate." Caitlyn gasped. Hes was looking for a mate? What kind of mate? His gaze shifted towards her, and his eyes glittered with a hard, angry look. "You--what?" Toni stepped back, apparently stunned. "You heard me," Carlos growled. "Ye want to get married?" the Scotsman asked. "Don't look so shocked, Ian. Didn't want you want to get married?" "Aye, but--" "You can't get married," Toni declared. "You're gay." Caitlyn snorted. Were they crazy? Carlos glared at her in the shadows, then shifted his gaze to Toni. "I never said I was gay." "Of course you're gay," she insisted. "I saw you dance the samba in a hot pink sequined thong." Carlos shrugged. "So? You said I was very sexy. You were practically drooling." Ian stiffened. "When was this?" "Before I met you," Toni muttered.

I regained consciousness after a big night at the Cock and Bull Inn, or it could’ve been The Weasel’s Way or The Badger’s Breath, who knows with these weird English pub names. Anyway, it was somewhere near The Pig and Whistle. Not far up from the Scotsman’s Kilt.

Have you always been so large? (Nora) Aye. I came from my mother’s womb at full height. The shock of it almost killed her. (Ewan)

Now she knew why girls were not allowed to feel anger—there was a reckless hope in it, and power.

Simon blinked himself awake, confused, for a moment, why he was in a dungeon that smelled of dung rather than his Brooklyn bedroom - then, once he got his bearings, confused all over again about why he was being awoken in the middle of the night by a wide-eyed Scotsman. "Is there a fire?" Simon asked. "There better be a fire. Or a demon attack. And I'm not talking about some puny lower-lever demon, mind you. You want to wake me up in the middle of a dream about rock superstardom, it better be a Greater Demon.

I've bled for you. I've killed for you. I've held you in my arms and done my best to make love to you. I'd give my life to protect you. Now I sit beside you, askin' you to trust me.

Much that I despise," he said hoarsely. "and all that I desire, meets in you. And it frustrates me beyond reason.

Annie is my wife, and she will remain wi' me as my wife, subject only to my rule. I will suffer no man to dishonor her or lay hand upon her so long as I live.

Though this marriage is a sham, what we share tonight will be real, my lady. I said I'd treat you wi' the same respect I'd show my own true bride, and I meant it. I'd no' be able to call myself a Scotsman if I let you walk across this threshold.

To make matters worse, Linda, it appears, is madly in love with a monster of a Scotsman, who came to dinner last night in his kilt. Those hairy old knees decided us. "The Mountains I can bear," said Loudie. "Natives in the semi-nude at dinner time is another matter. I leave tomorrow.

A jovial man can be happy with anyone, but when a sad one laughs, he treasures that one who brings him the sunshine. (Cat)

He gave it the benefit of the doubt; he was Scotch. ("The Wendigo")

[...] she couldn't help but think that this was how Persephone would be dragged to the underworld in 1880s London: not screaming, not twisting wildly, but painfully composed while Hades wore a velvet jacket.

shall now forever live with the knowledge that without you in it, the world would be a strange place, and I should never be at home in it again.

I'm not certain, but it's quite possible I'm gradually maturing into the likeness of an elderly, angry, mumbling Scotsman.

Few women can resist a Scotsman. No woman can resist a Highlander.” ~ A truth known by every female living.

There were a Scotsman named McFee Who got stung on his nuggets by a bee He made tons of money By producing lots of honey Every time he went for a pee.

A cask of whisky slipped from the hoisting gear, broke on the roof of a transit shed, and poured all over MacRae. He's ready to murder someone - which is why I brought him up here to you." Despite her concern, Merritt let out a snort of laughter. "Luke Marsden, are you planning to hide behind my skirts while I confront the big, mean Scotsman?" "Absolutely," he said without hesitation. "You like them big and mean.

Are you sure the two of you aren’t married? (Bavel) Why do you ask? (Ewan) You can barely stand to speak to each other, and yet when the lady walks off you look as if you can already taste her. Smacks of marriage to me. (Bavel)

Come with me, sweet lass, and I'll make good on me promise to chase ye through the woods like a highlander." Broen spoke in a rich timbre laced with good humor. " Ye there...Lads, be sporting now and let me ravish this charming creature the way only a Scotsman can!

You touch her again, and so help me I’ll rip your arm off and beat you with it. (Ewan)

Making love with you is even more wonderful than making music." He drew her closer. "Och, Sarah, you _are_ my music.

A hint of fire in his eyes, he glanced up at her. "If that displeases you, lass, I can leave you here for the next savior who comes along.

Ewan had shown her ways for a man to take a woman that she wouldn't have thought possible. But never once had he hurt her. Nay, her bear was ever tender.

it had occurred to her that she smiled more often to preempt someone else’s displeasure than to express her joy.

Darling," she said reasonably, "you can't put your foot down, I've already put my foot down.

Gathering wool, are we? (Ewan) Nay, merely practicing irritating you, and by the looks of your face, I’d say I’m doing a rather remarkable job of it. My mother always says that any effort worth pursuing is worth pursuing well. (Nora)

At first sight, they were still an unlikely match—opposites in looks, upbringing, and temperament. But on the artist's color wheel, two opposite colors were considered complementary. Their high contrast caused high impact, and they looked their brightest when placed next to each other.

Once upon a time there was a Scottish SAS soldier in Kabul. He met a Soviet Spetsnaz soldier. They were enemies first, then shagged for nine years, fell in love at some stage. Dragons, battles, and damsels in distress in between, until an evil wizard took the Spetsnaz away. The Scot and the damsel battled the vile foes, until the Russian returned, but the evil spell still hat him in its claws. More dragons, battles, knights in not-so shiny armour later, the spell got broken, the Princes got reunited, and our Russian and Scotsman kind of lived happily ever after." (Dan)

I’m still not entirely sure how I got here. The kids from Narnia went through a wardrobe dresser and became kings. The chick from Outlander touched some stones and ended up with a hot kilted Scotsman.   Me, I knock on my neighbor’s door because I hear voices shouting, and the next thing I know, I’m being shoved in a slave pen and referred to as “Tart.”   Hollywood has definitely misled me.

I had turned to leave and he had called after me. “Miss Maria, I kin no other woman who could be wearing men’s trousers and be dripping such as ye are and look quite so lovely. It’s a right shame your mother is marrying you off to that great sot!” I had turned to call back to him, “I doubt very much we will have to worry about that after today!

So now you be facing me for ideas, eh? What makes you think a simple, brainless woman like myself would have any idea on how to accomplish men’s work? Why, I feel faint just trying to think any thought at all. (Cat)

Aye, lass, courage like that is uncommon rare. It wasna ignorance, mind; he’d just seen two men flogged and he knew the same was coming to him. It’s just he had made up his mind there was no help for it. Boldness in battle is nothing out of the way for a Scotsman, ye ken, but to face down fear in cold blood is rare in any man.

She told him ... how her heart had fairly skipped a beat when she'd seen him standing in the middle of the road dressed as a true Highland warrior. "If I hadna been in love wi' you already, I'd have fallen in love wi' you then." He grinned, his whiskery face unbearably bonnie even with its cuts and bruises. "So you like the sight of me in a pladdie, aye?" "Aye--and wi' braids in your hair." She leaned down and kissed him. "But I think red paint looks silly.

She was shiny and preoccupied with colors; he had breathed and ingested darkness, had stared at it for so long it had begun to stare back into him. Darkness was a part of him now, encrusted in his soul like coal dust in a miner's skin.

There was no way I could contemplate taking the England job. Can you imagine me doing that? A Scotsman? I always joked that I would take the position and relegate them: make them the 150th rated country in the world, with Scotland 149.

Whatever did they feed you to make you grow so large? (Nora) A great deal of breast milk. (Ewan) You take great delight in shocking people, don’t you? (Nora)

You, sir, have the manners of a stump. (Nora) Since I’m as tall as a tree, that would be rather fitting, don’t you think? (Ewan)

Was that a smile? (Nora) Was what a smile? (Ewan) That strange curvature of your lips. You know, the one where the corners are actually going up instead of down. (Nora)

Oh, how frustrating,” she said, “to keep a woman’s wages low to soothe a man’s vanity.

redheaded women are from hell. Lovely was dead. Enter the witch.

[Connor, prepared to sacrifice himself to save Sarah] God, I pray, give me the strength to live the next hour well.

He was, she realised, quite graceful. The very idea surprised her. Male grace was a quality she'd never thought of beyond the ballroom; either a man could dance a quadrille with skill and without stepping on her feet or he could not. But here was another kind of grace altogether--and untrained grace, an instinctive animal grace.

Though the continued march of intellect and education have nearly obliterated from the mind of the Scots a belief in the marvelous, still a love of the supernatural lingers among the more mountainous districts of the northern kingdom; for 'the Schoolmaster' finds it no easy task, even when aided by all the light of science, to uproot the prejudices of more than two thousand years. ("The Phantom Regiment")

I’m not moping. (Ewan) Oh, forgive me. See, where I come from an upside-down smile means you’re frowning, and if you’re frowning while withdrawn from everyone and everything, it means you’re moping. I guess here in your cave, the world is backward and a frown means you’re happy. (Nora)

Do you intend to come over here and mount your horse, or are you wanting to stare at my backside for the rest of the day? (Ewan)

You harm her, and so help me, I’ll defy death itself to rip your heart out. (Ewan)

I wish you were small enough that I could give you the spanking you deserve. (Aisleen) Mother, I’m injured. (Ewan) Aye, and in the head to boot. (Aisleen)

But perhaps every woman had known a moment when she felt as though she were drowning, and the only comfort was that there could be some beauty, some dignity, in that, too.

market forces alone are never fair. Which is why we need regulation and systemic wealth redistribution.

In the controlled, patient way a confident man could afford to wait, Lucian was waiting for her.

Did the ancient Gaels not wear undergarments?" Frank leered. "You've never heard that old song about what a Scotsman wears beneath his kilts?

Munro gave her a wink. ‘We’d best order those steaks, lassie,’ he said, grinning, ‘if you’ve your eye on a Scotsman, you’ll need to keep your strength up.

It seems that labor, once it crosses the door into a home, is magically transformed into a priceless act of love or female duty—meanwhile, women’s hands are raw from very real chores.

I was a captor to you, but you have given me my only hours of true happiness." His hands clenched by his sides then, as if to hold on to the stolen bliss, but his fingers curled over emptiness. "To me," he said, "you were the light in the dark place to which I'd bound myself.

We passed a very pleasant evening, though I made the slight mistake of taking Poirot to a crook play. There is one piece of advice I offer to all my readers. Never take a soldier to a military play, a sailor to a naval play, a Scotsman to a Scottish play, a detective to a thriller -- and an actor to any play whatsoever! The shower of destructive criticism in each case is somewhat devastating.

An Englishman, a Scotsman, and an Irishman meet a magical fellow at the top of a tall building. The wizard tells them that if they jump off the building, whatever they say while they’re falling will appear at the bottom. So the Englishman, he jumps off first, being the bravest of them of course, and he yells, ‘Pillows!’ and he lands on a big pile of pillows. The Scotsman jumps off next, and on the way down he yells, ‘Hay!’ and he lands in a big pile of hay. Last up is the Irishman, but he trips on the edge of the building right as he’s about to jump, and as he falls he yells, ‘Oh, crap!

As he poured himself a drink, David thought about his dead father-in-law, Dudley Craig, a charming, drunken Scotsman who had been dismissed by Eleanor’s mother, Mary, when he became too expensive to keep.

I can almost believe the rumors that say you’ve sold your soul to the devil when you look like that. (Sean) You can more than believe it, MacKaid. Harm her and I’ll introduce you to the devil myself. (Ewan)

Don’t touch me, Nora. (Ewan) Why? (Nora) If you touch me, I’ll kiss you, and if I kiss you right now, I’m not sure I’ll have the strength to pull back and be satisfied with just the taste of your lips. (Ewan)

His men howled with him. They were caught up in Baird’s madness. At this hour, under the fire of the sun and emboldened by the arrack and rum they had drunk in their long wait in the trenches, the redcoats and sepoys had become gods of war. They gave death with impunity as they followed a warmaddened Scotsman down an enemy wall that was sticky with blood. Baird would have his city or else he would die in its dust.

thirty percent of central public spending for infernal imperial wars. On the other hand, nothing for health or education, not a shilling. Which very nicely maintains the oversupply of poor, uneducated lads to the front lines and mining pits. There’s more dignity in bullets and rocks than in begging for alms in a rotten London ally.

Refinement. A man who is decorous and mannerly. One who is– (Nora) Boring. (Cat) How so? (Nora) Have you ever been around such men? They’re mewling. Fussing over their hair, their cloths. They’re more woman than man. (Cat)

Charity? No. I want lasting change. Remember the trouble of raising wages to a living wage as a single entrepreneur? I want a restructuring of government expenditure. A systemic redistribution of wealth—that is what I want.

We’ll never see money diverted from the imperialists,” he said. “They’d rather devour the world than feed the people of Britain. I’m looking at the revenue side and currently the most effective lever is to increase the income tax.

Son of a beast tried to bite me when I turned my back to the billets!"... Nostrils flaring and ears pinned, the grey repeated the offense. "He wants another go at it. Be a sport ol' man!" Robert chortled. The indignant Scotsman threw the reins in his face, tromping off to collect the major's horse. "I wonder was it reward or punishment Winthrop had in mind in allowing you to keep that brute?" Drake innocently inquired. "He only eats Scotsman," Robert quipped.

I happen to like being sad over nothing at all. I find it suits me. (Ewan) A smile would suit you better. My mother always says that a smile is dressing for the face. (Nora) And I always say the face, much like the body, is best left naked. (Ewan)

Nay, Father. You’ve a wedding to be about. I want no one to ever question my right to this lady again. (Ewan) Ewan. You’ll pass out before it’s through. (Lochlan) Then toss some water on my face, prop me up and make sure I say ‘I do’ when I need to. (Ewan)

My brother and I are both well aware that I have nothing at all to fear from you. On the contrary, it's common knowledge that Scots are trustworthy and honest, and... and simply the most honorable of men." MacRae's scowl eased slightly. After a moment, he said, "'Tis true that Scots have more honor per man than other lands. We carry the honor of Scotland with us wherever we go." "Exactly," Merritt said. "No one would doubt my safety in your company. In fact, who would dare utter one offensive word, or threaten any harm to me, if you were there?" MacRae seemed to warm to the idea. "If someone did," he said vehemently, "I'd skin the bawfaced bastard like a grape and toss him onto a flaming dung heap." "There, you see?" Merritt exclaimed, beaming at him. "You're the perfect escort.

I was picking flowers. (Nora) And you think that handful of weeds was worth risking your life and wellbeing? (Ewan) My mother has oft told me that men have sacrificed their lives and kingdoms for a woman’s smile, so why not risk the ire of a bear for a bouquet? (Nora)

Gregori snorted. “If he’s a real Scotsman, he’s going commando.” “Really?” With a grin, Wilson walked over to his workstation. “So tell me, are you a real Scotsman?” He grabbed a blow dryer. “ ’Cause I feel a breeze coming on.” Dougal groaned. It was going to be a long night.

Though his countenance was solemn, there was a glint of amusement in his eyes. "Major MacKinnon, won't you join us?" "But, my lord, he is clad in outlawed rebel attire. The Dress Act expressly forbids--" "I am not blind, Colonel, and I am familiar with our laws." Sarah fought back a smile. Colonel Haviland lowered his voice, leaned toward Uncle William. "He was invited to pay respects to your niece, my lord, and he has the gall to--" "I _am_ payin' my respects to the lass!" Connor's deep voice filled the room, cutting Colonel Haviland off altogether.

The queen of the sky told him that in death there is no satisfaction. Only pain will find you. So he asked her when the pain would lessen. The queen told him never. The pain is what shows us how much we loved them. If you truly love someone, then the pain of their loss will always be in your heart. (Nora)

For the benefit of your research people, I would like to mention (so as to avoid any duplication of labor): that the planet is very like Mars; that at least seventeen states have Pinedales; that the end of the top paragraph Galley 3 is an allusion to the famous "canals" (or, more correctly, "channels") of Schiaparelli (and Percival Lowell); that I have thoroughly studied the habits of chinchillas; that Charrete is old French and should have one "t"; that Boke's source on Galley 9 is accurate; that "Lancelotik" is not a Celtic diminutive but a Slavic one; that "Betelgeuze" is correctly spelled with a "z", not an "s" as some dictionaries have it; that the "Indigo" Knight is the result of some of my own research; that Sir Grummore, mentioned both in Le Morte Darthur ad in Amadis de Gaul, was a Scotsman; that L'Eau Grise is a scholarly pun; and that neither bludgeons nor blandishments will make me give up the word "hobnailnobbing".

Her words, they came from a place desiring to please or appease, to appear normal or silly, which were usually considered the same in a girl. It was a malaise afflicting most women in Britain, this compulsion to say one thing while thinking another, to agree to things one disliked, to laugh about jokes that were dull

Barely able to breathe, Eva's tongue slipped across her lips. He moved a bit closer. "Every time ye walk past, I want ye. Your scent sends my insides into a maelstrom of need." She closed her eyes and drew out the moment, wishing he'd say that again. Oh, how delectable to listen to a medieval Scotsman declare his desire.

a curious gizmo that a bearded Scotsman named Alexander Graham Bell was calling his “telephone.” (Bell would read from Hamlet’s soliloquy at one end of the hall, and attendees at the other could plainly hear the inventor’s voice issuing from a little speaker. “My God, it talks!” exclaimed one prominent visitor, Emperor Dom Pedro of Brazil.)

Henry Scougal, the Scotsman who lived nearly three hundred years ago. He said that Christianity is ‘the life of God in the soul of men’. In other words, what makes us Christian is not primarily what we do, but what God does to us. That is essential Christianity. This rebirth, this being born again is all God’s action; that is not man’s, it is God’s. It is being born from above. It is the work of the Holy Spirit of God. Therefore, the essential thing about being a Christian is that one has thus been dealt with by God, and that is an experience. It is not only experience, of course; there is the element of understanding, and so many other things. But the vital thing is just this experience

Some hearts strove for the mellow pleasures of kind and steady things, and some beat for the heat of passion even when they knew they'd burn. I'd choose the blaze, she thought.

the reality is, a woman’s martyrdom will not change a man who doesn’t wish to change.

seems that labor, once it crosses the door into a home, is magically transformed into a priceless act of love or female duty—meanwhile, women’s hands are raw from very real chores.

Married life would be dull indeed without some friction; one can't light a match with it.

To make matters worse," Luke continued, "there was an accident." Her eyes widened. "What kind of accident?" "A cask of whisky slipped from the hoisting gear, broke on the roof of a transit shed, and poured all over MacRae. He's ready to murder someone - which is why I brought him up here to you." Despite her concern, Merritt let out a snort of laughter. "Luke Marsden, are you planning to hide behind my skirts while I confront the big, mean Scotsman?" "Absolutely," he said without hesitation. "You like them big and mean.” Her brows lifted. "What in heaven's name are you talking about?" "You love soothing difficult people. You're the human equivalent of table syrup." Amused, Merritt leaned her chin on her hand. "Show him in, then, and I'll start pouring." It wasn't that she loved soothing difficult people. But she definitely liked to smooth things over when she could. As the oldest of six children, she'd always been the one to settle quarrels among her brothers and sisters, or come up with indoor games on rainy days. More than once, she'd orchestrated midnight raids on the kitchen pantry or told them stories when they'd sneaked to her room after bedtime.

Unless you are a woman,” she said bitterly. “Then you are taught that spending your every breath on others is working for your own glory. A rather sly appropriation of surplus labor if you ask me.

It’s the same as Scots English,” she explained. “It’s not your tongue, it was forced on you, and like your whisky you’ve blended it into something that’s your own. Anyone who hears a Scotsman speak recognizes the sound. We’ve made this language that was imposed on us ours too. When I speak, West Africa is on my tongue, Taino is on my tongue. Castilians have their Spanish, and we have our own.

Merritt stared in bemusement at the big, wrathful Scotsman. He was an extraordinary sight, more than six feet of muscle and brawn dressed in a thin wet shirt and trousers that clung as if they'd been glued to his skin. An irritable shiver, almost certainly from the chill of evaporating alcohol, ran over him. Scowling, he reached up to remove his flat cap, revealing a shaggy mop of hair, several months past a good cut. The thick locks were a beautiful cool shade of amber shot with streaks of light gold. He was handsome despite his unkempt state. Very handsome. His blue eyes were alert with the devil's own intelligence, the cheekbones high, the nose straight and strong. A tawny beard obscured the line of his jaw- perhaps concealing a weak chin?- she couldn't tell. Regardless, he was a stunner.

In 1870, the per capita consumption in America was less than one cigarette per year. A mere thirty years later, Americans were consuming 3.5 billion cigarettes and 6 billion cigars every year. By 1953, the average annual consumption of cigarettes had reached thirty-five hundred per person. On average, an adult American smoked ten cigarettes every day, an average Englishman twelve, and a Scotsman nearly twenty.

Nora cocked her head as she studied it. It was an interesting piece. Rather large as it lay nestled in the short, dark curls. It seemed oddly harmless lying there, and she had a sudden urge to reach out and touch it.

I reached for a pair of my own, intrigued. “Why not? Did the ancient Gaels not wear undergarments?” Frank leered. “You’ve never heard that old song about what a Scotsman wears beneath his kilts?” “Presumably not gents’ knee-length step-ins,” I said dryly. “Perhaps I’ll go out in search of a local kilt-wearer whilst you’re cavorting with vicars and ask him.” “Well, do try not to get arrested, Claire. The dean of St. Giles College wouldn’t like it at all.” In

His best friends were Tom Armstrong, who was two years older than himself and had been painting now for several years, and a Scotsman, Lamont, with a dry sense of humour and a twinkling eye. There was Rowley, too, a giant of wonderful physique and the tender heart of a child, moved to tremendous rage if anyone insulted his friends; Poynter, and Aleco Ionides, and the sinister, slightly crazy Jimmy Whistler, who wore his dark curls long and was a great poseur, even in those days.

NOTHING was as discouraging as seeing the buff guy in the kilt coming toward me along the top of that hotel bar. His skin was spray-tanned to a shade of orange that matched the leather of his sporran. He’d leapt onto the bar like it was nothing, and strode the full length in a cloud of baby oil scent so thick it even cut through the smell of beer in the air. He wore nothing but a tiny kilt that I’m quite sure no self-respecting Scotsman would blow his nose into, and a plaid tam atop a vivid orange wig. I think my heart broke a little at the sight of that wig. The stripper pranced down the bar, jig-stepping over glasses to the sound of an electro-bagpipe drone.

My kin would sooner have a badger in their house than a Campbell." Alan saw his mother open hermouth and shook his head to silence her. He not only knew Shelby could hold her own but wanted to see her do it. "Most MacGregors were comfortable enough with badgers in the parlor." "Barbarians!" Daniel sucked in his breath. "The Campbells were barbarians, each and every one of them." Shelby tilted her head as if to study him from a new angle. "The MacGregors have a reputation for being sore losers." Instantly Daniel's face went nearly as red as his hair. "Losers? Hah! There's never been a Campbell born who could stand up to a MacGregor in a fair fight. Backstabbers." "We'll have Rob Roy's biography again in a minute," Shelby heard Caine mutter. "You don't have a drink, Dad," he said, hoping to distract him. "Shelby?" "Yes." She shifted her gaze to him, noting he was doing his best to maintain sobriety. "Scotch," she told him, with a quick irrepressible wink. "Straight up.If the MacGregors had been wiser," she continued without missing a beat, "perhaps they wouldn't have lost their land and their kilts and the name.Kings," she went on mildly as Daniel began to huff and puff, "have a habit of getting testy when someone's trying to overthrow them." "Kings!" Daniel exploded. "An English king, by God! No true Scotsman needed an English king to tell him how to live on his land." Shelby's lips curved as Caine handed her a glass. "That's a truth I can drink to." "Hah!" Daniel lifted his glass and drained it in one swallow before he thumped it onto the table at his side. Cocking a brow,Shelby eyed the Scotch in her glass,then proceeded to follow Daniel's example. For a moment,he frowned at the empty glass beside his. Slowly,with the room deadly silent,he shifted his gaze back to Shelby.His eyes were fierce, hers insolent. Heaving himself out of his chair, he towered over here, a great bear of a man with fiery hair.She put both hands on her hips, a willow-slim woman with curls equally dramtic. Alan wished fleetingly he could paint. Daniel's laugh, when he threw back his head and let it loose,was rich and loud and long. "Aye,by God,here's a lass!" Shelby found herself swept off her feet in a crushing hug that held welcome.

There is something quite . . . monstrous about the education of upper-class women. . . . All the world is agreed that they are to be brought up as ignorant as possible of erotic matters, and that one has to imbue their souls with a profound sense of shame in such matters. . . . They are supposed to have neither eyes nor ears, nor words, nor thoughts for this. . . . And then to be hurled as by a gruesome lightning bolt, into reality and knowledge, by marriage—precisely by the man they love and esteem most! To catch love and shame in a contradiction and to be forced to experience at the same time delight, surrender, duty, pity, terror. . . . Thus a psychic knot has been tied that may have no equal!

Drawing aside so as not to impede passersby, he answered. “Oggy?” said his ex-colleague’s voice. “What gives, mate? Why are people sending you legs?” “I take it you’re not in Germany?” said Strike. “Edinburgh, been here six weeks. Just been reading about you in the Scotsman.” The Special Investigation Branch of the Royal Military Police had an office in Edinburgh Castle: 35 Section. It was a prestigious posting. “Hardy, I need a favor,” said Strike. “Intel on a couple of guys. D’you remember Noel Brockbank?” “Hard to forget. Seventh Armoured, if memory serves?” “That’s him. The other one’s Donald Laing. He was before I knew you. King’s Own Royal Borderers. Knew him in Cyprus.” “I’ll see what I can do when I get back to the office, mate. I’m in the middle of a plowed field right now.” A chat about mutual acquaintances was curtailed by the increasing noise of rush-hour traffic. Hardacre promised to ring back once he had had a look at the army records and Strike continued towards the Tube. He got out at Whitechapel station thirty minutes later to find a text message from the man he was supposed to be meeting. Sorry Bunsen cant do today ill give you a bell This was both disappointing and inconvenient, but not a surprise. Considering that Strike was not carrying a consignment of drugs or a large pile of used notes, and that he did not require intimidation or beating, it was a mark of great esteem that Shanker had even condescended to fix a time and place for meeting. Strike’s knee was complaining after a day on his feet, but there were no seats outside the station. He leaned up against the yellow brick wall beside the entrance and called Shanker’s number. “Yeah, all right, Bunsen?” Just as he no longer remembered why Shanker was called Shanker, he had no more idea why Shanker called him Bunsen. They had met when they were seventeen and the connection between them, though profound in its way, bore none of the usual stigmata of teenage friendship.

no Scotsman worth his name wears anything under his kilt. Except maybe lipstick, if he’s had a lucky night.

He swung three more times, beating in the heads of the remaining group, all of them meeting their brief and messy ends by means of a Fiskars spade in the hands of a bellowing ginger Scotsman.