“Really, Sir John,” she said, “I don’t know how to thank you. ‘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. I had no idea you were not the happiest girl. Spurling bit her lips to conceal her mirth. “Eight pounds,” she plunged, and added foolishly, “fifteen pounds will see me clear of everything. Papa has sent me to be religieuse. Fetter Lane, on the left, Gray's Inn, on the right, added their supplies.
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