"It's all over," groaned Wood, "and perhaps it's as well her senses are gone. He just walked in a few minutes ago. The day had become suddenly overcast. I've despatched him to the New Prison. "Shall I never banish those horrible phantoms from my couch—the father with his bleeding breast and dripping hair!—the mother with her wringing hands and looks of vengeance and reproach!—And must another be added to their number—their son! Horror!—let me be spared this new crime! And yet the gibbet—my name tarnished—my escutcheon blotted by the hangman!—No, I cannot submit to that. I don’t want to influence you unduly—But—They’re artistic people, Vee. ‘Will you—what was it?—“blow off his head”?’ Melusine eyed her, a little uncertain.
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