To his consternation, she was holding an unwieldy, ugly-looking pistol, all wood and tarnished steel, with both hands about the butt. She is like some character out of Phra the Phoenician: she's been buried for thirty years and just been excavated. The Night-Cellar XVIII. Heaven forbid. She no longer felt sick or dizzy, her muscles returned to a relaxed, supple state. “Do you know him?” Lucy replied, “No, I haven’t met him.
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