Who's a-goin' to touch _me_? Called in a watchman.
Whole mess of 'em had cut. Who knows 'em? Nobody knows 'em. Man that
was stuck never see the fellers as stuck him in all his life till then.
Didn't know which one of 'em did it. Didn't know nothing. Don't now,
an' never will, 'nless he meets 'em in hell. That's all. Feller's dead,
an' who's a-goin' to touch _me_? Can't do it. Ca-n-'t do it."
"Mr. Rollins," said Dr. Renton, thoroughly disgusted with this man's
brutal indifference, "your lease expires in three days."
"Well, it does. Hope to make a renewal with you, Dr. Renton. Trade's
good here. Shouldn't mind more rent on, if you insist,--hope you
won't,--if it's anything in reason. Promise sollum, I sha'n't have no
more fightin' in here. Couldn't help this. Accidents _will_ happen,
yo' know."
"Mr. Rollins, the case is this: if you didn't sell liquor here, you'd
have no murder done in your place,--murder, sir. That man was murdered.
It's your fault, and it's mine, too. I ought not to have let you the
place for your business.
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