Yet you catch her eye—you can’t seem to escape from it. I didn’t dream, not even in my wildest dreaming, that—you might have any need of me. When the woollen-draper was nearly worn out, the Amazon watched her opportunity, and hitting him on the arm, disabled it. It wouldn’t be you. Don't be afraid—I won't hurt you. She had tried him as a Crusader, in which guise he seemed plausible but heavy—“There IS something heavy about him; I wonder if it’s his mustache?”—and as a Hussar, which made him preposterous, and as a Black Brunswicker, which was better, and as an Arab sheik. “In self-defence I had to,” she answered. “You didn’t expect that I should kiss you?” “How was I to know that a man would—would think it was possible—when there was nothing—no love?” “How did I know there wasn’t love?” That silenced her for a moment. ‘Say it. ’ She edged sideways a little more, her eyes on the pistol in his hand.
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