“What can one say?” she exclaimed. To his consternation, she was holding an unwieldy, ugly-looking pistol, all wood and tarnished steel, with both hands about the butt. She had not thought anything could equal her despair at that moment. Your face has flitted out of my watch-fire, and then I have been a haunted man. Sensing his discomfort, she stood up and brushed lint off of the hem of her gray miniskirt. Wood's.
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