Tis a promise, McTee.

Black McTee, Black McTee--I'll make ye Red McTee--red as the palms av me hands." McTee tied the cold, wet towel around Harrigan's forehead.
"I'll kill you by inches, Harrigan.

You'll read hell in my eyes before your end.

Drink this!" He raised Harrigan's almost lifeless head and forced the neck of a whisky bottle between his teeth.
"Ah-h!" said Harrigan, blinking and coughing after the strong liquor had burned its way down his throat.

"The feel av your throat under me thumbs was sweeter than the touch av a colleen's hand, McTee! I'm dead for shlape!" And instantly his eyes closed; his breathing was deep and sonorous.