She kicked him in the shin, trying to knock him off his feet. He swore that I was his wife, and—I shot him, Nigel, as his arms were closing around me. She stole the opportunity to peer at his departing figure from the closed curtains of the front room window, his shoulders slumped forward, his posture and his ego slightly deflated. She had tried to shift the subject of conversation away from herself and was even managing successfully until Chen the father addressed her. Gosse had moved forward, his pistol arm out straight, his aim true, the gun cocked. And I think I must pursue my acquaintance with the fulsome Madame Valade.
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