To his consternation, she was holding an unwieldy, ugly-looking pistol, all wood and tarnished steel, with both hands about the butt. But I have remembered the horse and have asked this sergeant that a soldier fetch him. The one nearest to her, which must lead to the library. Could she go through with it? She must. Vorsack looked pale and pink. Their idea of maidenly innocence was just a blank white—the sort of flat white that doesn’t shine. Melusine giggled, and tucked her hand into his. “Oh my God, what if she’s dead?” More giggling.
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