She looked at me as though I were some unclean thing, as though my soul were weighted with every sin in the calendar. But now it’s beads by the cask—like the hold of a West African trader. ‘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. “You see,” he said, “from my point of view you’re grown up— you’re as old as all the goddesses and the contemporary of any man alive. He never asked questions; he never addressed his companions; and frequently he took off his cap and wiped his forehead. The moment they cease to be serviceable, or become dangerous he lodges an information, and the matter's settled. ” She spat in his face. They proved all sorts of things perhaps, but they were thick, unequal, pitiful pieces of work. She positioned it over her arm, placing the firing end in Rhea’s mouth. ‘Will you let be?’ Instead she grasped his hand tighter. “Thanks to you. And yet—Wait a little, you’d better have every bit of it.
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