With all the oldtime dislike in my heart, all the hatred aroused by what I had overheard, I closed down on his throat, rejoicing to see the purple of his flesh turn into a sickening black, as he fought desperately for breath, and as he lost consciousness, and ceased from struggle.

I was conscious of a pang in my wounded shoulder, yet it seemed to rob me of no strength, but only added to my ferocity.

The fellow rested limp in my hands.

I believed I had killed him, and the belief was a joy, as I tossed the helpless body aside on the floor, and stepped through the open window into the room.

Dead! he was better off dead.
I stood above him, staring down into the upturned face.