Miss Harcourt debauched
"No!" Miss Harcourt cried, "For gods sake No!" as I levelled Mr Cambridge's antique duelling pistol to aim not at Mr Simon Harcourt's head but instead the imaginary spot eight inches above his head whereby the ball would drill a third hole in direct line with his eye sockets. "Why should I spare him?" I demanded, "He has wounded me with his tongue and now his piece." "He, he is young and foolish," she shouted, "And noble in defending my honour!" I held the piece...