To his consternation, she was holding an unwieldy, ugly-looking pistol, all wood and tarnished steel, with both hands about the butt. ’ ‘Oh, a ruin,’ exclaimed Mrs Sindlesham, throwing up a hand. “My mom is making duck. Then came the shock of the knowledge that soon he would be going upon his way, that there would be no one to depend upon her; and all the old loneliness came smothering down upon her again. I pray, Anna, that you may find your happiness. She stole a few glances at John as she stood and played the pieces. “If only I could afford another!” she thought regretfully. What could she do? Reluctantly, at a second curt command, she began to step across the uncarpeted floor, her eyes never leaving the threatening pistol. The simile started a laugh in his throat. But was that enough? Dim, formless suspicions of something more vital wandered about his mind.
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