She had made a bed for herself out of wood and furs. I want to be your knight, your servant, your protector, your—I dare scarcely write the word—your husband. "Right!—right!" cried Jack, striking his fettered hands against his breast. ‘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.
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