Placing the revolver against his chest, Dartie had pulled the trigger several times. It was not loaded. Dropping it with an imprecation, he had muttered: “For shake o’ the children,” and sank into a chair. Winifred, having picked up the revolver, gave him some soda water. The liquor had a magical effect. Life had ill-used him; Winifred had never “unshtood’m.” If he hadn’t the right to take the pearls he had given her himself, who had? That Spanish filly had got’m. If Winifred had any ’jection he w’d cut⁠—her⁠—throat. What was the matter with that? (Probably the first use of that celebrated phrase⁠—so obscure are the origins of even the most classical language!)