. ‘Never trust a gun in female hands,’ grumbled Hilary, dropping the nun’s habit and backing to join his friend. By this time, Jonathan and the vast mob attending him, had come up, and the place was rendered almost as light as day by the links. It was as if her finite human brain could only store a limit of information, details like hair color and fingernail shape easily jettisoned to make room for the nuances of a grin or the emotion of a shoulder blade. There were white men with families, a fine mission-house, and a club-house for cards and billiards. She let out a wail.
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