. .into the writhing figure
of a man. His father lay, broken and dying, on the ground.
And from the Tower above came another sound, as if in answer to his
pain: a howl of laughter so complete, so devoid of all remorse.....
Ballard had come up behind his leaning master and, all other base
pleasures denied him, with his own strong and gnarled hands, hurled
the aging tyrant to his death.
Casting away the pistol as if itself the instrument of murder, Stephen
fell to his knees before his father.
"What can I do!" he cried. And while the man's tortured movements grew
less, the son knew in his heart that this was not the easing of pain,
but the end of all struggle, brought by death.
The Lord Purceville had just strength enough to turn his head once,
and view the flesh that would outlive his own. But that was all. The
life flowed out..... Angelica. I'm sorry
.
Too late. He had tried to kill his own daughter. His eyes rolled back,
and he was dead.
Stephen's head shot back in agony, as he released a sound more bestial
than human.
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