To his consternation, she was holding an unwieldy, ugly-looking pistol, all wood and tarnished steel, with both hands about the butt. “Not like it’s your fault if you wake up one day and decide you hanker for a nice piece of ass, a ten-minute tumble. Jesus! They just wouldn’t let up about you after you played the violin for them. “My dear,” she said, when she could get her breath, “you must come home at once. From time to time, however, he was baffled.
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