Their jabbering made me sea-sick some times.

At last one day I felt I'd go staring mad myself if I didn't do something exciting to lift me, as it were.

I got a revolver, sat at the opposite end of the room from the three lunatics, and practised shooting at them.

I had got it into my head that they ought to die, but it was only fair, I thought, to give them a chance.

I would try hard to shoot all round them--make a halo of bullets for the head of every one, draw them in silhouettes of solid lead on the wall.
"I talked to them first, and told them what I was going to do.