'Steady, and sit down.
You can't kill me, my good man, unless you do it in my sleep--against
which I'll take precautions. So you may quit wondering on that
score. . . . And I can't kill you; for you're too precious--doubly
precious now, _having been bought with that price_. . . . Sit down, I
tell you, and order that infernal dog to be quiet: else I'll pump
some lead into him and, dog against dog, you may count it quits.'
"'Quits?' he echoed.
"'In the matter of two yellow dogs only: and I have given up keeping
pets, having _you_. . . . Now listen: Did you ever guess that I
loved your wife?'
"It took him like a blow between the eyes. 'No, I didn't,' he
answered slowly, and then with a sudden rush of malignity, 'I wonder
it didn't occur to you, then--I wonder you didn't try to--to--tamper
with her.'
"'You would,' said I. 'It's the sort of man you are, you Farrell.
The next thing, you'll be capable of wondering if I didn't. . . .
Pah! and _you_ call _me_ Satan!' I spat. 'Now, take hold on your
fool head and think. For _her_ sake I grant you ease of that
suspicion, though in dealing with you it would be priceless to me.
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