To his consternation, she was holding an unwieldy, ugly-looking pistol, all wood and tarnished steel, with both hands about the butt. "Jack!" Her son averted his gaze. He sat on the bed, throwing aside his hat. He did not notice that Ann Veronica was preoccupied and heavy-eyed. But his own ferocity was less now that she was disarmed. He wanted to put on his overcoat and come after you and look for you—in London.
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