"I am not thinking of murder or poison.

I am only thinking that the poor old fellow's health may be shattered by peasant-girls and fat pasties.

There are, I must tell you, pasties so jolly heavy that they call them 'inheritance pasties.' There's no poison in them, but lots of goose-livers and other delicacies.

Eat your fill of 'em, and throw in some good red wine, and apoplexy will be waiting for you round the corner." "I can't say: I never made such things," said the ex-pastry-cook, gravely.
"Nor did I mean to say that I would have them made for my uncle.

I am capable of killing, I am capable of shooting or cutting down the man I hate; but it is not in me to kill a man in order to inherit his property.