After the first violent outbreak of grief had in some degree subsided, Thames addressed him. ‘The gatehouse? But why must you move him at all?’ ‘Listen, missie. since the beginning. "No bones broken, I hope," said Thames, laughing at Jack, who limped towards the bench, rubbing his shins as he went. To his consternation, she was holding an unwieldy, ugly-looking pistol, all wood and tarnished steel, with both hands about the butt. The dress was her mother's, and she was wearing it to save a little extra money. Something, then, to appease the wrath of God; something to blunt this persistent agony.
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