TARLETON. Oh! she was my victim, was she?

THE MAN. She was. And you shall see her face again before you die,
dead as she is. I have a photograph.

TARLETON. Good.

THE MAN. Ive two photographs.

TARLETON. Still better. Treasure the mother's pictures. Good boy!

THE MAN. One of them as you knew her. The other as she became when
you flung her aside, and she withered into an old woman.

TARLETON. She'd have done that anyhow, my lad. We all grow old.
Look at me! _[Seeing that the man is embarrassed by his pistol in
fumbling for the photographs with his left hand in his breast pocket]_
Let me hold the gun for you.

THE MAN. _[retreating to the worktable]_ Stand back. Do you take me
for a fool?

TARLETON. Well, youre a little upset, naturally. It does you credit.

THE MAN. Look here, upon this picture and on this. _[He holds out
the two photographs like a hand at cards, and points to them with the
pistol]._

TARLETON. Good. Read Shakespear: he has a word for every occasion.