Euphemia (offscreen): If you loved Irving the way I loved Phaedra, then you wouldn't be standing in my -

Amos has reached down under his cloak to begin unsheathing a black percussion pistol. He raises it and presses back the hammer, arming it with an ominous CLICK.

Amos: Move, hag. Or you will never move again. 

Euphemia leans on her cane, completely unimpressed, with the pistol aimed directly at her face.

Euphemia: Goodness. And I didn't think you could get any FUNNIER. I already asked your mistress to kill me, and she refused. Are you willing to sidestep her judgment? I'm one of her favorite toys, Amos. Be sure not to break me.