“Well!” she declared good-humouredly. Imitating the example of Mr. Her eardrums were burning with the echoes of those hideous shouts. ‘So it is that you could not help it. There isn’t a husband breathing, Annabel, who wouldn’t have blessed that pistol in your hands, and prayed God that the bullet might go straight. It was a purse. It is useless to contend with him, even with right on your side. It hung from the centre of a stout pole, each end of which rested upon the calloused shoulder of a coolie; an ordinary Occidental chair with a foot-rest.
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