"I tell you C-Chichester, it will be either him or m-me!"
"If he—condescends to fight you, my dear Ronald."
"C-condescend?" cried Barrymaine, and it needed but a glance at his flushed cheek and swaying figure to see that he had been drinking more heavily than usual. "C-condescend, damn his insolence! Condescend, will he? I'll give him no chance for his c-cursed condescension, I—I tell you, Chichester, I'll—"
"But you can't make a man fight, Ronald."
"Can't I? Why then if he won't fight I'll—"
"Hush! don't speak so loud!"
"Well, I will, Chichester,—s-so help me God, I will!"
"Will—what, Ronald?"
"W-wait and see!"
"You don't mean—murder, Ronald?"