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Ireland



You think you can look down your nose at me from behind your bit of glass and brick? You’re nothing but a narrow-minded, desk-sitting, pencil-pushing ghost! You’ve spent your whole life in a box—born in a box, living in a box, and you’ll die in a box, and you haven't the soul to breathe the air in between!
You dry-blooded, penny-pinching, miserable buffer! You’ve the heart of a frozen turnip. You think your 'laws' and your 'papers' make you a man? You couldn't last a winter night under canvas if your life depended on it.
Don't you dare call the guards on my people again! You rat-faced, sneering, spineless worm!
Keep your mouth shut about things you don’t understand, James! You’re a small man in a big house, and all your stone walls won't hide the fact that you’re terrified of a bit of dust on the road.