. “Really, Sir John,” she said, “I don’t know how to thank you. My goodness gracious. ‘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. Niece and aunt regarded each other for a moment over their pockethandkerchiefs with watery but antagonistic eyes, each far too profoundly moved to see the absurdity of the position. . All the sombre visions she had been pressing back, fighting out of her thoughts, swarmed over the barrier and crushed her. “You see,” he said, “you are like an inaccessible gold-mine in all this sort of matter. I suppose this is the sort of damned rubbish—” “Oh! Ssh, Peter!” cried Miss Stanley. I'm almost sorry I've sworn to hang you.
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