“I don't think I'd say that about personal chastisement. People don't horsewhip nowadays.”
“So much the worse. I would leave it there, however. It will insult him like a blow.”
“Oh, he's ready enough,—he'll not need poking to rouse his pluck. I'll say that for him.”
“And yet I half suspect he 'll write some blundering sort of apology; some attempt to show that I was mistaken. I know—I know it as well as if I saw it—he 'll not fire at you.”
“What makes you think that?” “He could n't. It would be impossible for him.” “I 'm not so sure of that. There's something very provocative in the sight of a pistol muzzle staring at one a few paces off. I'd fire at my father if I saw him going to shoot at me.”
“I think you would,” said she, dryly. “Sit down and copy that note. We must send it by a messenger at once.”
“I don't think you put it strongly enough about old Foss-brooke. I 'd have said distinctly,—I object to his acting on account of his close and intimate connection with my wife's family.”
“No, no; leave it all as it stands. If we begin to change, we shall never have an end of the alterations.”
“If I believed he would not fire at me, I'd not shoot him,” said Sewell, biting the end of his pen.
“He 'll not fire the first time; but if you go on to a second shot, I'm certain he will aim at you.”