They were looking for a guide. ‘As for your dagger—’ She held out her hand palm up, as if she expected him to give her the weapon. Her patience was waning fast. 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. Nigel Ennison was he. Wood and several serving-men, all well armed, rushed into the room. Courtlaw.
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