She was lost to him. He found his voice, icy, aloof. He lifted his rifle again, but hesitated before loosing a clay pigeon. Don't tip toe round my little feelings, Mr. Canty. I shan't break.
Life is savage.
The others are dead. He nodded, afraid that this was so. She was too young to know such harshness. She was eyeing his rifle. He held out the breechloading Winchester for her to try.