“When I hate, I hate hard. When I strike, I strike hard.”
“But you were a fool! Think of it! You killed him!”
“Perhaps so, perhaps not.”
“I know; I felt for his heart.”
Stark was in a terrible state of mind, for murder was a thing to shake his nerves, even though it had not been meditated upon in advance. His brain seemed confused, and he could not decide on the proper course to pursue. The horror of the tragedy in the woods was on him, and he could not shake it off.
Bunol managed to hold himself well in hand, and his nerve seemed wonderful, making him more repellent to Stark.
“You killed him!” repeated Fred. “You may be hanged for it!”
“Why? Nobody need know.”
“Such things are bound to come out. Besides, why should we put ourselves in a bad box by shielding you? You—you alone are to blame!”
“Ha!” cried Bunol derisively. “You say that? You? Why, you sent me to soak him! You dare to blow on me? Ha! You be in bad scrape, too!”