\" Diane Vorsack chirped with the grin of a Cheshire Cat, extending her right hand in greeting. They don’t catch on to discursive interests, you see, because they are more serious, they are concentrated on the central reality of life, and a little impatient of its—its outer aspects. ‘Do you think because you’ve managed to pull a gun on me—not to mention several daggers and a vicious little knife— that you can get away with it against a man who means business?’ ‘Do you think that the trigger I would not have pulled, or stuck the dagger into you, if you had not been as you are?’ she countered. Her hands wove through his black hair, luxuriating in its thickness. He had assumed that her leaving home was the point at issue, that everything turned on that, and that the sole alternative was obedience, and she had fallen in with that assumption until rebellion seemed a sacred principle. Unless it was a jewel or locket of some kind. In that sense, my strategy worked. He appeared to be a stranger to the prisoner, and the sole motive of his visit, curiosity. The challenge gave her courage.
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