Remember that. Wood; "here's a pretty to-do about nothing. "Shall I never banish those horrible phantoms from my couch—the father with his bleeding breast and dripping hair!—the mother with her wringing hands and looks of vengeance and reproach!—And must another be added to their number—their son! Horror!—let me be spared this new crime! And yet the gibbet—my name tarnished—my escutcheon blotted by the hangman!—No, I cannot submit to that. While he thus vented his rage, the door again opened, and Quilt Arnold rushed into the room, bleeding, and half-dressed. She liked his face; it had on it the suggestion of gentleness, of fineness. Just because I attempt to seek the worst of men to kill, it doesn’t make it right.
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