Then he relaxed back a little, and let the weapon dangle from his fingers. V. Ennison roused himself with an effort, took a long drink from his whisky and soda, and lit a cigarette. ‘Beg pardon, sir?’ asked the sergeant, evidently mystified. She held out her arms to him and smiled. He grabbed her wrist and prised the weapon from her fingers, ignoring her other hand that clawed at his to try to retain the trophy.
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