“I was sick of the make-believe. Jonathan gave utterance to a low whistle. “Then some of your family history is known to me. You will never be able to draw. I’m not a bit afraid of anything—scandal, difficulty, struggle. He tore it down just as the Wastrel rose, wavering slightly. To his consternation, she was holding an unwieldy, ugly-looking pistol, all wood and tarnished steel, with both hands about the butt. He was plainly attired in a riding-dress and boots of the period, and wore a hanger by his side.
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