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Dixon, Thomas, 1864-1946

"The Southerner A Romance of the Real Lincoln"

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"Left to themselves, the soldiers would end this war in thirty minutes.
It's the one man at the top who won't let them. It's hellish--it's
hellish----"
"And you would justify an assassin?" Betty asked breathlessly.
"Who is an assassin, dear?" he demanded tensely. "The man who wields a
knife or the tyrant who calls the fanatic into being? Brutus or Caesar,
William Tell or Gessler? Resistance to tyrants is obedience to God----"
"John, John--how can you say such things--you don't believe in
murder----"
"No!" he breathed fiercely. "I don't now. I used to until I had a
revelation----"
He stopped short as if strangled.
"Revelation--what do you mean?" Betty whispered, watching his every
movement, with growing terror.
He looked at her with eyes glittering.
"I didn't want to tell you this," he began slowly. "I meant to keep the
black thing hidden in my own soul. But you'll understand better if I
speak. I killed Ned Vaughan with my own hands----"
"You're mad----" Betty shivered.
"I wish I were--no--I was never sane before that flash of red from hell
showed me the truth--showed me what I was doing. We fought in the
darkness of a night attack, hand to hand, like two maddened beasts. He
ran me through with his sword and I sent the last ball left in my
revolver crashing through his breast.


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