Murder isn't what most people think--giving someone a dollop of arsenic--pushing them over a cliff--that sort of stuff.
Today I am going to kill something. Anything.
A senseless act of violence. A senseless murder. As if you could commit sensible murder.
It was perhaps that they dreaded to be killed in insignificant ways after the times for proper military deaths had passed. Or, perhaps, they thought it would be too ironical to get killed at the portals of safety.
There's the scarlet thread of murder running through the colourless skein of life, and our duty is to unravel it, and isolate it, and expose every inch of it.