Aye an' a bit of Mackeral settler rack and ruin ran it doon by the haim, 'ma place. Well I slapped me and I slapped it doon in the side and I cried, cried, cried.
The fear a fallen down taken never back the raize and then Craig Marion, get out wi' ye Claymore out mi pocket a' ran doon, doon the middin stain picking the fiery horde that was fallen around ma feet. Never he cried, never shall it ye get me alive ye rotten hound of the burnie crew. Well I snatched fer the blade. O my Claymore cut and thrust and I fell doon before him round his feet.
Aye! A roar he cried frae the bottom of his heart that I would nay fall but as dead, dead as 'a can be by his feet; de ya ken?
...and the wind cried Mary.
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