There was a young lad ahead of her. ‘At me,’ she uttered, holding her own pistol high and aiming it steadily. Lucy had snuck in the back door by the kitchen and Sheila was ready for her, standing between the stove 124 and the refrigerator. It's all your fault, you shaking coward! and, but that I feel sure you'll swing for your carelessness, I'd throw you into the well, too. ‘Let it fall!’ ‘Brute!’ she spat, struggling, and he knew at once he had guessed aright. It is no fault of your own that you are not at this moment standing there with your head blown off.
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