”You’re going to reload this gun right now. Pull up on that T-shaped handle.”
It blurred through hot tears, but she jerked up on it. The whole top of the revolver swung forward and down, revealing the back of the cylinder. Three empty cases and the two unfired rounds popped up slightly. Her fingers shook but she pulled out the spent cases and reloaded the empty chambers. Then she closed the gun up again.;
”You were supposed to know how to do this. Skip your lessons again and…”
He left the threat hanging. He’d already destroyed any hope she’d ever entertained of becoming a scout. Her whole chest ached with the need to sob. But she held it all inside, except for the hot, miserable tears she could not quite contain.
Malcolm checked the alleyway again, leaving her to huddle against the wretched gravestone. She slid down into the weeds and fought the tightness in her throat. I won’t give up. I won’t. It isn’t fair! She’d only done what Sven Bailey had taught her. Hadn’t she? Know when to quit, Kit had told her. I won’t quit! Not when I’ve come so far! Somehow, she’d find a way to get back into Malcolm’s good graces. She had to. She’d sooner commit suicide than go back to Minnesota a failure.
During the endless walk up through Spitalfields, Margo listened with everything in her, ruthlessly shoving aside humiliation and terror for the more immediate need to learn. She picked up slang, names for items she’d never seen before, tidbits of news and gossip that led her to several startling conclusions about the state of the world in 1888.