. ’ ‘Don’t start arguing again, for God’s sake,’ snapped Roding irritably, dragging out his own large pocket-handkerchief. Lucy tried not to make her cringe noticeable. I found it on the beach, just sitting there nestled inside a piece of driftwood. What could she do? Reluctantly, at a second curt command, she began to step across the uncarpeted floor, her eyes never leaving the threatening pistol. If the Wastrel had not turned the instant he did, the ball would have missed him; as it was he turned directly into its path.
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