He had pictured her, if indeed she had ever had the courage to do this thing, as sitting alone, convulsed with guilty fear, starting at her own shadow, a slave to constant terror. ’ ‘What?’ squeaked Kimble. ‘Do you think because you’ve managed to pull a gun on me—not to mention several daggers and a vicious little knife— that you can get away with it against a man who means business?’ ‘Do you think that the trigger I would not have pulled, or stuck the dagger into you, if you had not been as you are?’ she countered. For a few minutes, she appeared scarcely sensible of his presence. Shotbolt?" rejoined the executioner. I’m okay. He sat up in his chair again, the colour came back to his cheeks. ‘Now see here, missie.
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