He thought of poison, and a pistol,--of the pistols he had ever loaded at home, each with six shots, good for a life apiece. He thought of an express train, rushing along at its full career, and of the instant annihilation which it would produce. But if that was to be the end of him, he would not go alone. No, indeed! why should he go alone, leaving those pistols ready loaded in his desk? Among them they had brought him to ruin and to death. Was he a man to pardon his enemies when it was within his power to take them with him, down, down, down--? What were the last words upon his impious lips, as with bloodshot eyes, half drunk, and driven by the Fury, he took himself off to the bed prepared for him, cursing aloud the poor red-haired girl as he went, I may not utter here.
 of his pistols. He thought of an express train, and of the instant annihilation which it would produce.
But he would not go alone. No, indeed! why should he go alone, leaving those pistols ready loaded in his desk? Was he a man to pardon his enemies when he could take them with him, down, down, down? With bloodshot eyes, half drunk, and driven by the Fury, he took himself off to bed, cursing the poor servant as he went.