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  • The long June twilight faded into night. Dublin lay enveloped in darkness butfor the dim light of the moon that shone through fleecy clouds, casting a palelight as of approaching dawn over the streets and the dark waters of the Liffey.Around the beleaguered Four Courts the heavy guns roared. Here and therethrough the city, machine guns and rifles broke the silence of the night, spasmodically, like dogs barking on lone farms. Republicans and Free Staters werewaging civil war.On a rooftop near O’Connell Bridge, a Republican sniper lay watching. Besidehim lay his rifle and over his shoulders was slung a pair of field glasses. Hisface was the face of a student, thin and ascetic, but his eyes had the cold gleamof the fanatic. They were deep and thoughtful, the eyes of a man who is usedto looking at death.
  • Placing a cigarette between his lips, he struck a match, inhaled the smoke hurriedly and put out the light. Almost immediately, a bullet flattened itselfagainst the parapet of the roof. The sniper took another whiff and put out thecigarette. Then he swore softly and crawled away to the left.
  • Just then an armoured car came across the bridge and advanced slowly up thestreet. It stopped on the opposite side of the street, fifty yards ahead. Then round the corner of a side street came an old woman, her head coveredby a tattered shawl. She began to talk to the man in the turret of the car. Shewas pointing to the roof where the sniper lay. An informer. The turret opened. A man’s head and shoulders appeared, looking toward thesniper. The sniper raised his rifle and fired. The head fell heavily on the turretwall. The woman darted toward the side street.
  • Taking off his cap, he placed it over the muzzle of his rifle. Then he pushedthe rifle slowly upward over the parapet, until the cap was visible from theopposite side of the street. Almost immediately there was a report, and a bullet pierced the centre of the cap. The sniper slanted the rifle forward. The capclipped down into the street. Then catching the rifle in the middle, the sniperdropped his left hand over the roof and let it hang, lifelessly. After a fewmoments he let the rifle drop to the street. Then he sank to the roof, dragginghis hand with him.
  • The Republican sniper smiled and lifted his revolver above the edge of theparapet. The distance was about fifty yards – a hard shot in the dim light, andhis right arm was paining him like a thousand devils. He took a steady aim.His hand trembled with eagerness. Pressing his lips together, he took a deepbreath through his nostrils and fired. He was almost deafened with the reportand his arm shook with the recoil.
  • The theme of this story is that war is always bad no matter what side of it you are on. This is shown when the republican sniper was regretful right after he killed the opposing sniper. And then when he went to see who he had killed he felt sorrow and remorse.
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