‘At me,’ she uttered, holding her own pistol high and aiming it steadily. Uttering a terrible imprecation, Blueskin placed the knife between his teeth, and endeavoured to seize the poor woman by the throat. She donned her fuzzy slippers and traipsed downstairs, the welcoming smell of coffee beckoning her, the sound of Looney Toons music barely audible from the television set. ’ ‘Where are we going?’ ‘Back to Blaye, my girl. I’m minded to take a whip and beat some sense into you.
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