47, straightening her hat and waiting for her luggage to appear. Moving back to the corner again, she ran a hand back over the leather-bound books—which, she realised, were not books at all. There isn’t a husband breathing, Annabel, who wouldn’t have blessed that pistol in your hands, and prayed God that the bullet might go straight. His eyes squeezed shut in ecstasy; he let out a sigh.
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