“Good God!” he said quickly, as if to himself, and again, “Good God!” Then starting up, “But, Stephen, it’s⁠ ⁠… it’s⁠ ⁠… you mean⁠ ⁠…” Suddenly the word “murder” had flashed into his thoughts, and that word seemed to light up the whole ghastly business, made it immediately more hideous. “It’s murder ,” he had been going to say, but some fantastic sense of delicacy stopped him.

Stephen halted at the door. A wild rage came over him. There was a strange kind of fierce resolution about him then which his friend had never seen before.

“Oh, for God’s sake, don’t stand dithering there, John,” he flung back. “Are you going to help me or not? If not, clear out⁠ ⁠… if you are, come on⁠ ⁠… quick, before Margery comes.” He went into the hall.