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Nor did he content himself with declaring his guiltlessness of the crime imputed to him, but began in his turn to menace his captor and accuser, loading the latter with the bitterest upbraidings. Dizzily, she grabbed at the mantel for support and, resting her head on her hands, paid no heed to a betraying sound behind her—until an unexpected arm encircled her. She used his own gun against him, a method that was occasionally cleaner than slitting throats when she got it right. It had her raven locks, her pouting lips. She heard the rats scattering across the stone as dirt fell into the crypt. He was not quite sure whether, after all, he had been wise.
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