" Thee knows. . .dying's only half of it. Any of us hear, I hope. . .is ready to die for what he believes. If it's asked of us and can be turned to good account. I'm not one for dying, willy-nilly, thee understands. . . .It's an awful final thing, and more often and not nobody's much discommoded by it, except thyself, but there are times when it's the only answer a man can give to certain questions. Then I'm for it. But thee's not been asked such a question, now. Thee can go out on the pike. . .and thee'll be . . .as dead and just as forgotten as if thee'd tied a stone round they neck and jumped off Clifty Falls. No, Josh, dying won't turn the trick. What thee'll be asked to do now - is kill.'

The word hung in the air. A fly circled the table, loudly and slowly, and still the sound of the word was there. . . .louder than the ugly humming. It hung in the air like an open wound. Kill. In the Quaker household the word was bare and stark. Bare as in Cain and Abel's time with none of the panoply of wars and regiments and campaigns to clothe it. Kill. Kill a man. Kill thy brother. . . . "

― Jessamyn West , The Friendly Persuasion