‘Never trust a gun in female hands,’ grumbled Hilary, dropping the nun’s habit and backing to join his friend. Nevertheless, she was still fighting. "I knew how it would be," she cried, in the shrill voice peculiar to a shrew, "when you brought that worthless hussy's worthless brat into the house. There was something in Jonathan's manner, as he issued this command, that struck the man as singular, and he afterwards recalled it. Here again instinct guided her.
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