A dry cough's the trumpeter of death. She dreaded living off the land again, like an animal, as she had done for dozens of years at a stretch. She occupied a small sofa, a little apart, a ruddy-complexioned gentleman some years her senior beside her, and glanced about with an air of considerable unease. with you. ‘Until today. ’ She released the pistol which lay in her lap and gestured expressively with her hands. If I could but——” To escape from her thoughts she began to undress, humming a light tune to herself, though her eyes were hot with unshed tears, and the sobs kept rising in her throat. ” “Never for a second. " That was true, thought Spurlock. Salvation.
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