’ ‘He let them go?’ asked Miss Froxfield incredulously. Sir John, by instinct and training, was an unimaginative person. “I don’t know whether I shall go on,” said Gwen, a novel note of languorous professionalism creeping into her voice. For most of a long and fluctuating night she was fairly confident that she would find work; she knew herself to be strong, intelligent, and capable by the standards of most of the girls she knew. But she was disappointed. ‘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. I can't invent; the thing won't come.
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