She tried to be casual. Her glasses moved quickly as her glance travelled from face to face. He stood back, smiling with an air of proprietorship, and looking about him at the business-like equipment of the room. “She means to go. She could feel his eyes surreptiously scanning her backside. They had asked her to come to the first of the two great annual Fadden Dances, the October one, and Ann Veronica had accepted with enthusiasm. There isn’t a husband breathing, Annabel, who wouldn’t have blessed that pistol in your hands, and prayed God that the bullet might go straight. “I see the pointer,” she said. Yes, I can readily believe it. “Loneliness,” she said, “is a luxury which I never permit myself. Ladies with weapon’s on ’em. Old farmhouses loomed as they whizzed by, left behind in the gray like mourners.
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