It is no fault of your own that you are not at this moment standing there with your head blown off. And if you dare to produce any kind of weapon at all,’ he added, taking a plain brass-barrelled little pistol from his own pocket and levelling it, ‘I will have no compunction in blowing off your head, you madcap female. Stay! I'll go myself. He returned her to her door at a decent hour, well before 10:00. Pah!’ She flounced about and, crossing to the bed, plonked down on it, pointedly averting her face and resting the large pistol in her lap. Ennison stood by her side.
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