” The men at the reporter’s table lifted their eyebrows, smiled faintly, and leaned back to watch how she took her scolding. The dog approached timidly, his tail going furiously. To his consternation, she was holding an unwieldy, ugly-looking pistol, all wood and tarnished steel, with both hands about the butt. He laid down the knife, and fixed a searching and distrustful gaze upon the writer, who continued his task, unconscious of anything having happened. Sebastian rose from the tomb. Sheppard, fleeing from him to the farthest corner of the room. “Why should it matter?” he said.
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