And as I've a mind to shoot you dead--" "Shoot, did you say ?" Samoval interrupted gently.
"I said 'shoot'-- and it shall be at ten paces, or across a handkerchief, or any damned distance you please." The Count shook his head.

He sneered.

"I think not--not shoot." And he waved the notion aside with a hand white and slender as a woman's.

"That is too English, or too Irish.

The pistol, I mean--appropriately a fool's weapon." And he explained himself, explained at last his extraordinary forbearance under a blow.