" "The pianist?" "Yes. And if you dare to produce any kind of weapon at all,’ he added, taking a plain brass-barrelled little pistol from his own pocket and levelling it, ‘I will have no compunction in blowing off your head, you madcap female. How perfectly charming. She felt him as something solid and strong and trustworthy beyond measure. She twisted to meet him and folded into his embrace. The same look she had often seen in the eyes of the drunken beachcombers her father had brought home, and it had not filled her with horror. The girl was flushed with excitement, bright-eyed, and braced for a struggle; her aunt had never seen her looking so fine or so pretty. .
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