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M. Gillenormand, clutched by the throat by his own
phrase, could not proceed. Being able neither to finish it nor
to retract it, while his daughter arranged the pillow behind
Marius, who was overwhelmed with so many emotions, the
old man rushed headlong, with as much rapidity as his age
permitted, from the bed-chamber, shut the door behind
him, and, purple, choking and foaming at the mouth, his
eyes starting from his head, he found himself nose to nose
with honest Basque, who was blacking boots in the ante-
room. He seized Basque by the collar, and shouted full in
his face in fury:—‘By the hundred thousand Javottes of the
devil, those ruffians did assassinate him!’
‘Who, sir?’
‘Andre Chenier!’
‘Yes, sir,’ said Basque in alarm.