I like her style.

I guess you can trust her with me--you ain't afraid of that, are you ?" "Take your hands off me!" cried Langham, struggling fiercely.
He tore at the gambler's wrists, but Gilmore only laughed his tantalizing laugh.
"Oh, come, Marsh, let's get back to the main point.

If North's indicted and your wife's summoned as a witness, she's got to chip in with us, she's got to deny that she was in his room that day--you got to see to that, I can't do everything--" "On your word--" "Well, you needn't quote me to her--it wouldn't help my standing with her--but ask her where she was between half past five and six the day of the murder; and mind this, you must make her understand she's got to keep still no matter what happens! Put aside the notion that North won't summon her; wait until he is really in danger and then see how quick he squeals!" "She may have gone to his rooms," said Langham chokingly, "but that doesn't prove anything wrong--" "Oh, come, Marsh, you ain't fool enough to feel that way about it--" "Let me up, Gilmore!" "No, I won't; I'm trying to make you see things straight for your own good.

What's the matter, anyhow; don't you and your wife get on ?" Langham's face was purple with rage and shame, while his eyes burned with a murderous hate.

Rude hands had uncovered his hidden sore; yet ruder speech was making mock of the disgraceful secret.