“I think we are growing sensible,” he said. ‘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. But he had scarcely advanced a step, when he was felled to the ground by a blow from the powerful arm of Kneebone, who, instantly possessing himself of a pistol, levelled it at Jackson's head. If you were a poet in need of rhymes, you had only to turn to a certain page. She pulled at his tee shirt again, wishing to feel his naked chest upon hers. I hope we may never find her again. She did not answer him, as she did not know what to say.
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