She was not squeamish—although the sight of the sergeant’s ominous preparations had severely tried her fortitude—but Kimble’s white face plagued her conscience. Nice, of course. To stop her, Sebastian slapped her face and nearly dislocated her jaw. She found herself mildly entertained by staring at the houses through the rain as she walked home, all cast in a gray blurry film noir gauze of rain. ’ Gerald started. I can wield a quarterstaff as well as a prize-fighter, and have beaten Figg himself at the broadsword. ‘One thing at a time, missie.
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