| Title | The Ragged Trousered Philanthropists |
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| Page | 221 |
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| Chapter | -- |
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| Text |
He began to think that this would be an even more excellent way than poison or charcoal; he could easily pretend to Frankie that he was going to show him some new kind of play. He could arrange the cord on the hook on one of the doors and then under pretence of play, it would be done. The boy would offer no resistance, and in a few minutes it would all be over. He threw down the book and pressed his hands over his ears: he fancied he could hear the boy's hands and feet beating against the panels of the door as he struggled in his death agony. Then, as his arms fell nervelessly by his side again, he thought that he heard Frankie's voice calling. `Dad! Dad!' Owen hastily opened the door. `Are you calling, Frankie?' |
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