"What good would it do you to destroy me? For I have courage to kill myself. ” He said, uncrossing his arms. The recollection of the forlorn and loveless years—stirred into consciousness by the unexpected confrontation—bent her as the high wind bends the water-reed. The scanty furniture of the rooms corresponded with their dungeon-like aspect. The assassination, as you call it, was, obviously, the vengeance of a kinsman of the injured lady, who no doubt was of good family, upon her seducer. Perhaps this was the real turning point: the hour in which the disordered mind began permanently to readjust itself. " "That is a far more agreeable one, I must confess," returned Kneebone, with a self-sufficient smirk.
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