There is a wait of
a second. No one moves._ BROCKTON _finally reenters with coat and hat
off, and throws back the portieres in such a manner as to reveal the
bed and his intimate familiarity with the outer room. He goes down
stage in the same leisurely manner and sits in a chair opposite_ JOHN,
_crossing his legs._
WILL. Hello, Madison, when did you get in?
_Slowly_ JOHN _seems to recover himself. His right hand starts up
toward the lapel of his coat and slowly he pulls his Colt revolver
from the holster under his armpit. There is a deadly determination and
deliberation in every movement that he makes._ WILL _jumps to his feet
and looks at him. The revolver is uplifted in the air, as a Western
man handles a gun, so that when it is snapped down with a jerk the
deadly shot can be fired._ LAURA _is terror-stricken, but before
the shot is fired she takes a step forward and extends one hand in a
gesture of entreaty._
LAURA. [_In a husky voice that is almost a whisper._] Don't shoot.
_The gun remains uplifted for a moment._ JOHN _is evidently wavering
in his determination to kill. Slowly his whole frame relaxes. He
lowers the pistol in his hand in a manner which clearly indicates that
he is not going to shoot. He quietly puts it back in the holster, and_
WILL _is obviously relieved, although he stood his ground like a man._
JOHN. [_Slowly._] Thank you. You said that just in time.
[_A pause._
WILL.
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