“Who do you think cares for your children as you dally with my husband, Clotilde?” Lucy asked. ‘Couldn’t even trouble to make a pretence of motherhood. “I think that I know very well what I am saying,” she answered. But, though I cannot reward you, Heaven will. ‘Who kills who?’ ‘Rot in hell,’ he snarled, panting, and managed to push himself forward and leap off the dais, running for the safety of the far aisle by the wall. It would be downright cruel to disillusion her. He pulled away. Sir Rowland then fell.
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