Killing him was the only thing he could do to calm his nerves. Seeing his blood flow onto the tiled floor actually felt amazing. It was a one in a million shot. Firstly the opportunity and secondly his curse hitting the guy right in the neck.
Antonin Dolohov turned and swept out of the café. In his situation he would never light his path. It would draw to much attention. His heart leapt as a figure came round the corner at the end of the road. The Killing Curse hit the figure as quick as Dolohov could. He came to the dead person. An old woman lay still in the clutches of her wheel chair. Dolohov felt no remorse.
"Is that a nice way to treat a muggle, Antonin?"
"Yes. It is."
"Agreed. Why are you hear Antonin. We are winning the fight in England."
"You know why Rudolphus."
"Why?"
"Because I don't like you."
"You know if I wasn't for the fact that my wife is your friend I would crush you like an ant."
"I'm trembling in my boots."
"You should be. The Dark Lord isn't happy. He thinks we need you. But I can't see why."
"I'm taking a holiday."
"In Scotland?"
"Yes, I particularly like the scenery and the fact that I don't have to spend every day… with you."
"Well keep holidaying for all I care. If it keeps you from eyeing up my wife then-."
Rudolphus was flung backwards from the force of the spell and landed against a wall.
"It looks like I hit a nerve."
As he spoke blood gushed from a cut in his cheek.
"I will go back, do what the master pleases and then once this is all over kill you and claim what is rightfully mine."
"Touching."
"Really?"
"No. She is my wife. What makes you think that you could get her?"
"Well the fact that you are lying on the floor with lass blood in your body than previously is an important nay persuasive factor in my case. Good day."
Dolohov walked off down the street, humming to himself well twiddling his wand in his hands.