That was how she projected it, and in general terms it seemed plausible and possible. “Poor old daddy! I wonder if he’ll spend much on the fatted calf?. It is extraordinary. No, you don’t!” Ennison had moved stealthily a little nearer to him, and looked suddenly into the dark muzzle of the revolver. "Shall I never banish those horrible phantoms from my couch—the father with his bleeding breast and dripping hair!—the mother with her wringing hands and looks of vengeance and reproach!—And must another be added to their number—their son! Horror!—let me be spared this new crime! And yet the gibbet—my name tarnished—my escutcheon blotted by the hangman!—No, I cannot submit to that. Rhea went down, screeching and clawing at the air for the sword, which clanked heavily on the ground.
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