" "Jack's mother?" exclaimed the young man. A snarl contorted his features, and he marched up to it, laying his pistol down on the marquetry table so that his hands were free to grab the picture off the wall. The comparisons upon which she could draw were few and confusingly new, mixed with reality and the loose artistic conceptions of heroes in fiction. "What ho!" he cried slapping Smith, who had fallen asleep with the brandybottle in his grasp, upon the shoulder. "God in Heaven!" he cried, "the floor is covered with blood. Slowly she released the hammer on the pistol, uncocking it, and Gerald became conscious that he had been holding his breath. His chest heaved violently, and big tears coursed rapidly down his cheeks.
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