“Either I want to shout,” said Mr. “H’m!” he said, regarding the wreckage with a calmer visage. I've seen many a clever cracksman, but never one like him. She got up, as she had been told to do, at his appearance, and he amazed her by sitting down, according to custom, on her stool. “You are absurd,” she declared. “I—I am sorry—I didn’t explain. ‘At me,’ she uttered, holding her own pistol high and aiming it steadily. Her foster father, Larry, was the hard working son-of-a-bitch type with a disdain for suits.
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