For that heroic band—those children of the furnace who, in regions like Texas and Tennessee, maintained their fidelity through terrible trials—we of the North felt for them, and profoundly we honor them.

It was a casual sneer, obviously one of a long line. There was hatred behind it, but of a quiet, chronic type, nothing new or unduly virulent, and he was taken aback by the flicker of amazed incredulity that passed over the younger man's ravaged face. Toberman was disconcerted. ‘What's the matter?’ he demanded truculently.

It is now clear that the brevity of an indecent broadcast – be it word or image – cannot immunize it from FCC censure.

Besides, if worse came to worst he had his pig-sticker— a beautiful switch-blade stiletto he'd scrounged off the body of a Latino after a gang war— in his back pocket.