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"Nasty little thing," I said. "I don't want to touch it; it's a built-in
booby trap."
I looked up at Gwen. She had him covered with a weapon quite as lethal but
embodying all the best in modem gunsmith's art, a nine-shot Miyako. "When he
pulled a gun on you, why didn't you shoot him? Instead of taking a chance on
disarming him? You can get very dead that way."
"Because."
"Because what? If someone pulls a gun on you, kill him at once. If you
can."
"I couldn't. When you told me to cover him, my purse was 'way over there.
So I covered him with this." Something suddenly glinted in her other hand and
she appeared to be a two-gun fighter. Then she clipped it back into her breast
pocket- a pen. "I was caught flat-footed, boss. I'm sony."
"Oh, that I could make such mistakes! When I yelled at you to cover him, I
was simply trying to distract him. I didn't know you were heeled."
"I said I was sorry. Once I had time to get at my purse I got out this
persuader. But I had to disarm him first."
I found myself wondering what a field commander could do with a thousand
like Gwen. She masses about fifty kilos and stands not much over a meter and a
half high-say one hundred sixty centimeters in her bare feet. But size has
little to do with it, as Goliath found out a while back.
On the other hand there aren't a thousand Gwens anywhere
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