The Count of Monte Cristo

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spite of the relief his society afforded, daily grew sadder; one thought
seemed incessantly to harass and distract his mind. Sometimes he would
fall into long reveries, sigh heavily and involuntarily, then suddenly
rise, and, with folded arms, begin pacing the confined space of his
dungeon. One day he stopped all at once, and exclaimed, "Ah, if there
were no sentinel!"

"There shall not be one a minute longer than you please," said Dantes,
who had followed the working of his thoughts as accurately as though
his brain were enclosed in crystal so clear as to display its minutest
operations.

"I have already told you," answered the abbe, "that I loathe the idea of
shedding blood."

"And yet the murder, if you choose to call it so, would be simply a
measure of self-preservation."