But the mere recognition of his son’s signature was enough to stoke the fires of his long-held rage. If you had any idea what depths people have sunken to as you reside safely in this high fortress, you would search your soul to find the mote of charity left there. It dealt from floor to ceiling and end to end with the Theory of the Forms of Life; the very duster by the blackboard was there to do its share in that work, the very washers in the taps; the room was more simply concentrated in aim even than a church. “Forgive me,” he said. ‘Do you think because you’ve managed to pull a gun on me—not to mention several daggers and a vicious little knife— that you can get away with it against a man who means business?’ ‘Do you think that the trigger I would not have pulled, or stuck the dagger into you, if you had not been as you are?’ she countered. I wanted something alive. ” She gazed at him.
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