To his consternation, she was holding an unwieldy, ugly-looking pistol, all wood and tarnished steel, with both hands about the butt. She had done forever with the Age of Chivalry, and her own base adaptations of its traditions to the compromising life. He said that for him beauty justified life, that he could not imagine a good action that was not a beautiful one nor any beautiful thing that could be altogether bad. Lucilla clearly adored her betrothed, anyone could see that. Shy, grateful in her loneliness for this unexpected attention, she had listened. Montressor’s guests. Thanks. She wanted to return his gaze but focused intently on a spot next to and above the brick fireplace, as her music teachers had always taught her to do instead of looking directly at the audience. "I will set about it instantly. He suddenly became eloquent and plausible.
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