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Whitman, Walt, 1819-1892

"Complete Prose Works Specimen Days and Collect, November Boughs and Goodbye My Fancy"

He remember'd not the ready solution to be found in Covert's
pressure of business, which had no doubt kept him later than usual;
but fancied some mysterious intent in the ordaining that he should be
there, and that they two should meet at that untimely hour. All this
whirl of influence came over Philip with startling quickness at that
horrid moment. He stepp'd to the side of his guardian.
"Ho!" said he, "have we met so soon, Mr. Covert? You traitor to my
dead father--robber of his children! I fear to think on what I think
now!"
The lawyer's natural effrontery did not desert him.
"Unless you'd like to spend a night in the watch-house, young
gentleman," said he, after a short pause, "move on. Your father was
a weak man, I remember; as for his son, his own wicked heart is his
worst foe. I have never done wrong to either--that I can say, and
swear it!"
"Insolent liar!" exclaimed Philip, his eye flashing out sparks of fire
in the darkness.
Covert made no reply except a cool, contemptuous laugh, which stung
the excited young man to double fury. He sprang upon the lawyer, and
clutch'd him by the neckcloth.
"Take it, then!" he cried hoarsely, for his throat was impeded by the
fiendish rage which in that black hour possess'd him. "You are not fit
to live!"
He dragg'd his guardian to the earth and fell crushingly upon him,
choking the shriek the poor victim but just began to utter. Then, with
monstrous imprecations, he twisted a tight knot around the gasping
creature's neck, drew a clasp knife from his pocket, and touching the
spring, the long sharp blade, too eager for its bloody work, flew
open.


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