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Doyle, Arthur Conan, Sir, 1859-1930

"The Return of Sherlock Holmes"

"I have only to raise my voice, and I could call
my servants and have you arrested. But I will make allowance
for your natural anger. Leave the room at once as you came,
and I will say no more."
The woman stood with her hand buried in her bosom, and the same
deadly smile on her thin lips.
"You will ruin no more lives as you ruined mine. You will wring
no more hearts as you wrung mine. I will free the world of a
poisonous thing. Take that, you hound, and that! -- and that!
-- and that!"
She had drawn a little, gleaming revolver, and emptied barrel
after barrel into Milverton's body, the muzzle within two feet
of his shirt front. He shrank away and then fell forward upon
the table, coughing furiously and clawing among the papers.
Then he staggered to his feet, received another shot, and rolled
upon the floor. "You've done me," he cried, and lay still.
The woman looked at him intently and ground her heel into his
upturned face. She looked again, but there was no sound or
movement. I heard a sharp rustle, the night air blew into the
heated room, and the avenger was gone.
No interference upon our part could have saved the man from
his fate; but as the woman poured bullet after bullet into
Milverton's shrinking body I was about to spring out, when I
felt Holmes's cold, strong grasp upon my wrist.


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