“Why shouldn’t one face the facts of one’s self?” She stood up. Her hair, once red, faded to a thin gray that she kept cut into a practical short bob. Nor my grandfathers both. But here was new music, tender and kindly and whimsical, that first roved to and fro in the mind and then cuddled up in the heart. Let her see if she could manage this one, perhaps turn all to suit herself? ‘What do you think to do with me now?’ The captain lowered the pistol. I'm not quite such a greenhorn as Shotbolt, Jack, whatever you may think.
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