’ ‘Merci,’ she sighed and, surrendering at last to his oft-proffered aid, allowed her head to droop onto his chest. 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. To her mind, recalling the picture of him the night before, there had been something tragic in the grim silent manner of his tippling. Oh, I know. She wanted to live. " This injunction was instantly obeyed. "Come along, my sly shaver.
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