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. But I wrapped it in that nun’s gear you give me. She remembered the doctor's warning that the real battle would begin when the patient recovered consciousness. Wood, glancing angrily at her husband. A queer nut. “They seem smaller, you know, even physically smaller,” she said. “The fellow is not such a blackguard, after all.
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