But just then he heard that rattling voice: "Purty night! By George! Katy, you're divine, by George! Sweeter'n honey and a fine-tooth comb! Dearer to my heart than a gold dollar! Beautiful as a dew-drop and better than a good cigar! He! he! he!" At such wit and such a giggle Charlton's charity vanished.

To him this idiotic giggle at idiotic jokes was a capital offense, and he was seized with a murderous desire to choke his sister's lover.

Kate should not marry that fellow if he could help it.

He would kill him.

But then to kill Westcott would be to kill Katy, to say nothing of hanging himself.
Killing has so many sequels.