“Well, the sight of you don't put me in the mood to be told much.” There was an imperceptible shifting of the crowd around the table. They were moving away from Spellman.
“I was telling my wife—”
“My girl, you mean! It wasn't enough to keep my business, you had to go home an' marry my girl, too, didn't you?”
“Curly, for the love of heaven—”
“Take your hand off my arm, Pete. I'm going to kill this—. He's not the kind of man I thought he was.”
Two shots crashed in the room!
Spellman wavered through the smoke haze, then dropped his pistol and fell slowly across the card table littered with shining cards and poker chips. An overturned tallow-dip dropped in a pool of wine and rolled down against the dead man's cheek, dabbling it with the color which would never return to it again.
“Bet, ain't that Curly Gillmore that we knew three years ago at Coloma, when Allie died?”
“Must be a-gittin' blind! Where?”