1. “The surgeon’s knife is surely a kindly weapon,” she declared. “I’m not so sure. Your brother has everything—I have not shown myself capable even of earning my own living except in a way which could not possibly bring any credit upon anybody. You are my prisoner, murderer. She looked steadfastly out. ‘How so?’ he asked, and she noted that he allowed his pistol to dangle a little from his fingers. The thin stream of blood on which her eyes were fastened with a nameless horror reached almost to her feet. Someone, it appeared, was trying to profit from that fact. Thinks they’re the same as soldiers. It was a second reminder that against her claim to go free and untrammelled there was a case to be made, that after all it was true that a girl does not go alone in the world unchallenged, nor ever has gone freely alone in the world, that evil walks abroad and dangers, and petty insults more irritating than dangers, lurk.
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