Get back, you brute!" The Master was hoarse with anger, his eyes flashed red murder. "Get out o' my sight," he shouted, "you ignorant brute! You a cattle doctor—you a Christian! Get out, I say; get out o' my sight. "Here, take your trumpery." Out went the carpet-bag, the coat, the fleam, into the yard; out came the Master raging and flaring. "You'd murder my beast—you'd kick her to death—you'd torture the life out of her! I'm sick of the sight of you. Get out; get out!