Well, Charles Milverton, what have
you to say?"
"Don't imagine that you can bully me," said he, rising to his
feet. "I have only to raise my voice, and I could call my
servants and have you arrested. But I will make allowance for
your natural anger. Leave the room at once as you came, and I
will say no more."
The woman stood with her hand buried in her bosom, and the
same deadly smile on her thin lips.
"You will ruin no more lives as you have ruined mine. You
will wring no more hearts as you wrung mine. I will free the
world of a poisonous thing. Take that, you hound -- and that!
-- and that! -- and that! -- and that!"
She had drawn a little gleaming revolver, and emptied barrel
after barrel into Milverton's body, the muzzle within two feet of
his shirt front. He shrank away and then fell forward upon the
table, coughing furiously and clawing among the papers. Then
he staggered to his feet, received another shot, and rolled upon
the floor. "You've done me," he cried, and lay still. The
woman looked at him intently, and ground her heel into his
upturned face.
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