We are all felons on this floor of the house.

You have come among us--you shall be one of us.

Ring that bell." He pointed with the pistol to a bell-handle behind me.

I pulled it in silence.
Felon! The word has an ugly sound--a very ugly sound.

But, considering how near the black curtain had been to falling over the adventurous drama of my life, had I any right to complain of the prolongation of the scene, however darkly it might look at first?
Besides, some of the best feelings of our common nature (putting out of all question the value which men so unaccountably persist in setting on their own lives), impelled me, of necessity, to choose the alternative of felonious existence in preference to that of respectable death.