Explore "Burn, Witch, Burn!" by Abraham Merritt on Textopian. Read with annotations and highlights.
I said, incredulously, "McCann, you surely don't expect me to believe that?"
He did not answer, rolling another cigarette which this time he did not throw away. The chauffeur staggered over to Ricori's body; he threw himself on his knees and began mingled prayers and implorations. McCann, curiously enough, was now completely himself. It was as though the removal of uncertainty as to the cause of Ricori's death had restored all his old cold confidence. He lighted the cigarette; he said, almost cheerfully: "I'm aiming to make you believe."