His hand went to his pocket and extracted a neat silver-mounted pistol. Manning? I suppose there’s a sort of place like a ticket-office. His baggy shorts sagged over knobby knees that tapered into decrepit Reebok sneakers. She leaned forward, her chin in her palms, her elbows on her knees, and she set her gaze upon his face and kept it there in dreamy contemplation. " And, with the uninjured hand he drew a pistol, which he fired, but without effect, at Jack.
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