‘Forgive my not rising to greet you,’ she said, holding out a claw-like hand. She blew on the hand cannon and grabbed her bag of gunpowder. She could not run, her limbs were frozen. We were expecting rather to find a male antagonist. ‘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. It was as if her aesthetic sense had become inflamed.
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