First paragraph

A while back I discovered that my great grandfather wrote several books. I don’t think any of them were ever published. I got a scan of the manuscripts from an aunt. I have not had time to read all the way through any of them yet, but get a load of this opening paragraph.

Pollard Nelson’s face was white with rage as he reached for his shotgun  which was hanging on the kitchen wall. His had quivered as he pulled it down from the wooden pegs. He laid it on the oilcloth-covered table, pushed a chair over by the cupboard, mounted the chair and reached for a box of shotgun shells. Grim determination distorted his face, and a consuming hatred smoldered in his deepset eyes. He released the lever, bent the gun over his knee, thrust two shells into the double barrels, snapped it shut, and started towards the door.

I don’t know how it turns out, but I do know good old Pollard is on his way to murder the guy that eloped with his daughter.