“Wilson had ducked to one side to get in a shoulder shot. Macomber had stood solid and shot for the nose, shooting a touch high each time and hitting the heavy horns, splintering and chipping them like hitting a slate roof, and Mrs. Macomber, in the car, had shot at the buffalo with the 6.5 Mannlicher as it seemed about to gore Macomber and had hit her husband about two inches up and a little to one side of the base of his skull. Francis Macomber lay now, face down, not two yards from where the buffalo lay on his side and his wife knelt over him with Wilson beside her.

“I wouldn’t turn him over,” Wilson said.

The woman was crying hysterically...

“That was a pretty thing to do,” he said in a toneless voice. “He would have left you too.”

“Stop it,” she said...

Why didn’t you poison him? That’s what they do in England.”

- - The Short Happy Life of Francis Macomber, from The Complete Short Stories of Ernest Hemingway”