I should have done it myself--yes, and revelled in it.

Can't you imagine it?
The night and the darkness, and oneself lying there pretending to be asleep and waiting--waiting--for the man one hated." Suddenly the wide eyes glowed red.

"Think of it--think of it, Allegro!--how one would feel for the point of the knife when one heard his step, and hide it away under the pillow when at last he came in.

How one's flesh would creep when he lay down! How one's ears would shout and clamour while one waited for him to sleep! And then--and then--when he began to breathe slowly and one knew that he was unconscious--how inch by inch one would draw out one's hand with the knife and raise the bedclothes, and plunge it hard and deep into his breast! Would he struggle, Allegro?
Would he open his eyes to see his own life-blood spout out?
Would he be frightened, or angry, or just surprised?
I think he would be surprised, don't you?
He wouldn't give his wife credit for hating him so much.

Men don't, you know.