He flung them to the ground and trampled them underfoot.
"Ten million curses on her!" he raved.

"She has been the bane of my life!" Monck's eyes came out of the distance and surveyed him, coldly curious.
"I thought so," he said, and in his voice was an odd inflection as of one who checks a laugh at an ill-timed jest.
Dacre stamped again like an infuriated bull.

"If I had her here--I'd strangle her!" he swore.

"That brother of yours is an artist.

He has sketched her to the life--the she-devil!" His voice cracked and broke.
He was breathing like a man in torture.