"I am your most unhappy son. It was her foster brother Mike, on his way to the bathroom. I'm an old hand at such things. ’ ‘But I can’t leave you, miss. As if we didn’t know! The practical trouble is our ages. ‘Hilary, thank God! Have you a pistol about you? Or better yet, your sword. Now you can understand why every minute is a torture to me. Her defence ceased rapidly to be in any sense ladylike, and became vigorous and effective; a strand of black hair that had escaped its hairpins came athwart Ramage’s eyes, and then the knuckles of a small but very hardly clinched fist had thrust itself with extreme effectiveness and painfulness under his jawbone and ear. She reloaded.
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