"It would be a pleasure, I assure you.

There are certain reasons why I cannot fight you myself." "To be sure." "It would be too much like murder," continued the innkeeper.

"Your hand would tremble so that you would miss me at point-blank.

There goes the last of the sun.

We must hurry." With a grimace the Count accepted the box and took out the pistols.
"They are old-fashioned," he said.
"A deal like the innkeeper's morals," supplemented the Prince.
"But effective," said the innkeeper.
The Count scowled at the old fellow, who met the look with phlegm.