He exerted his great strength, and the hammer snapped down.
“It wants adjusting really, only I haven’t bothered. I’ll never use it here. At one time it had a hair-trigger, it would fire at the slightest touch; but it’s a little out of order now.”
“How do you adjust it?” she asked, taking the gun from him and curling her slim finger round the trigger. By holding the gun in both hands and pressing very hard, she managed to raise the hammer an inch or so. “Phew; it is stiff! How do you adjust it?”
George sat on the bed by her side and explained the trigger mechanism to her.
“It’s simple; only I prefer to keep the trigger stiff, just in case of accidents.”
“You’re scared of accidents, aren’t you?” There was a mocking note in her voice. “Even when the gun isn’t loaded, you’re scared.”
“It’s better to be safe than sorry,” he returned, and took the Luger from her. His hand touched hers, and for one brief moment he felt a flame shoot through him: a burning desire to take her in his arms.
He got up at once and put the gun away.
“Now perhaps you believe me,” he said, with an embarrassed laugh.
“I believe you,” she returned, stretching out on the bed. “Give me an apple, will you?”