She still could not muster the strength to leave. She lived, he noted, very carelessly. He drew a little sigh of relief. "My horse is at the door, saddled, with pistols in the holsters,—mount him and fly. I am sure that he can be got rid of. His eyes never left her face. She spoke with an entirely false note of cheerful offhandedness. "Our talking will not bother him. I never forgive an injury. "Why, so it is," she said, in mock astonishment. She occupied a small sofa, a little apart, a ruddy-complexioned gentleman some years her senior beside her, and glanced about with an air of considerable unease. I am shockingly poor.
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