She felt her chest trying to float up, but the blessed undertow, the dreaded reason why she was warned to never bathe in the ocean, sucked her feet down, putting the decision where it belonged, into the hands of God. ‘At me,’ she uttered, holding her own pistol high and aiming it steadily. It was his turn to express astonishment. ‘What are you going to do now, Gerald?’ He sipped his wine and shrugged. Luckily, they were not easily discomposed. Ruth loved him.
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