For a space he rode the whirligig. Spurlock remained where he was until the sail became an infinitesimal speck in the distance. The few pence left in her purse would only provide a very scanty lunch. ‘Do you think because you’ve managed to pull a gun on me—not to mention several daggers and a vicious little knife— that you can get away with it against a man who means business?’ ‘Do you think that the trigger I would not have pulled, or stuck the dagger into you, if you had not been as you are?’ she countered. She was shifting, moving back. Madame Valade was that kind of woman. She reloaded. For she knew that men married to get something. "My portrait!" echoed Jack.
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