The Wolf's Hour
“Her eyes glinted with red, and her face was inflamed from the roots of her snowy hair to the point of her chin. “Bringing a German to my home!” she shrieked, in the throes of a fit. “I’ll have you executed as a traitor for this!” She glared at Michael, and looked at Arno Mausenfeld as if he were something that she’d just scraped off the sole of her shoe. “You! Get out! I’m not running a shelter for Nazi bums!”“Madam, I’m not a Nazi,” Mouse replied, with stern dignity. He drew himself up as tall... as he could, but he was still three inches shorter than Camille. “Neither am I a bum.”“Get out! Get out before I-” Camille whirled away, ran to a dresser, and opened it. Her hand came out with an old, heavy Lebel revolver. “I’ll blow your dirty brains out!” she hollered, all her Gallic graciousness gone, and she aimed the pistol at Mouse’s head.Michael caught her wrist, tilted the pistol up, and scooped it from her grip. “None of that, now,” he scolded.MoreLess
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