George bit his lip. What was she up to now?
“Show me your gun,” she said. “I’ll believe you if you really have a gun.”
He hesitated. Some instinct warned him not to show her the gun. He had never shown it to anyone. It was his secret. He had never intended sharing it with anyone.
She was watching him now, her eyes cold and cynical.
“Bluffing?” she asked, in a contemptuous, amused tone.
He went to his drawer and took out the cardboard box.
“You mustn’t tell anyone,” he said, putting the box on the bed.
She pushed his hand away and took off the lid. She had the gun now. It was odd, but it looked right in her hands. It looked as right in her hands as a scalpel looks right in the hands of a surgeon. She sat up and examined the gun. Her face was expressionless, but there was an intent concentration in her eyes that worried him.
“Is it loaded?” she asked, at last.
“Oh no,” George said. “Now let me put it away. I don’t know why you should be interested in it.”