Grasping one of chairs about the little table, he drew it forward and sat astride it, in a fashion as insolent as it was unexpected. The light was poor, so that she saw their gleaming faces dimly and indistinctly. Understand once and for all that that answer is final. “It was the night you left Paris. And if you dare to produce any kind of weapon at all,’ he added, taking a plain brass-barrelled little pistol from his own pocket and levelling it, ‘I will have no compunction in blowing off your head, you madcap female. You can’t do that sort of thing unless you do it over religion, and there’s no religion in me—of that sort—worth a rap. “I gave your name. It’s a lake among precipices, and there is a little inn where we can stay, and sit and eat our dinner at a pleasant table that looks upon the lake.
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