Generations had been born and died in between the times she had gotten laid. He sat with folded arms and knitted brows, thinking intently. Why was she noting things like this? Capes seemed selfpossessed and elaborately genial and commonplace, but she knew him to be nervous by a little occasional clumsiness, by the faintest shadow of vulgarity in the urgency of his hospitality. Presently he turned to Courtlaw. To his consternation, she was holding an unwieldy, ugly-looking pistol, all wood and tarnished steel, with both hands about the butt. I want you to hold me and have me SO.
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