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King Bobesh, the injured husband, suddenly turned crimson and brought his fist down upon the table with such violence that two actresses in the next dressing-room felt faint. "And you believe it?" cried Bluebeard. "You believe this worthless rascal? O-oh! Would you like me to kill him like a dog? Would you like it? I will turn him into a beefsteak! I'll blow his brains out!"
Bluebeard was standing with King Bobesh, showing him a revolver. "You had better buy it," said Bluebeard. "I bought it at Kursk, a bargain, for eight roubles, but, there! I will let you have it for six. . . . A wonderfully good one!" "Steady. . . . It's loaded, you know!" "Can I see Mr. Blistanov?" the piano-tuner asked as he went in. "I am he!" said Bluebeard, turning to him. "What do you want?"
"What's this nonsense?" said King Bobesh with a grin. "My wife is at No. 64." "Your wife, sir? Delighted. . . ." Murkin smiled.
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