"I didn't s-say so, d-did I?"
"Of course not, my dear Barrymaine, but—shall I take the pistols?" And Mr. Chichester stretched out his hand towards a flat, oblong box that Barrymaine carried clutched beneath his arm. "Better give them to me, Ronald."
"No,—w-why should I?"
"Well,—in your present mood—"
"I—I'm not—d-drunk,—damme, I'm not, I tell you! And I'll give the f-fellow every chance—honorable meeting."
"Then, if he refuses to fight you, as of course he will, you'll let him go to—ah—make love to Cleone?"
"No, by God!" cried Barrymaine in a sudden, wild fury, "I-I'll sh-shoot him first!"
"Kill him?"
"Yes, k-kill him!"
"Oh no you won't, Ronald, for two reasons. First of all, it would be murder—!"