"Abby, we have about forty minutes to sunset. I want to teach you how to fire a flechette pistol. Do you know much about them?"Abigail stared at the l...rge pistol I had handed her. "Well, as a girl, no direct experience of course. I have read a little. Exploding micro-darts, right?" That's right. Actually, here's the lever near the bottom of the breach for ammo selection..." Over the next few minutes I gave Abigail a basic course in a shooter's stance, how to hold and sight the weapon, and the. Suddenly she began sobbing uncontrollably. I crawled up her still bound length and removed the ropes around her wrists, rubbing where they had produced rope marks on her wrists. She pulled her arms away and threw them around my neck and pulled me to her. "Master! Oh my Master, Oh I love you so much! Oh thank you, Master! Thank you, thank you, thank you, for bringing me here!" she sobbed. I just held her for a few minutes as she cried into my chest. Her feet were still bound to the bedposts but. It had soft, furry blankets and pillows instead of silk sheets, and it was very warm. Alice sighed in pleasure, and sank into the bed. Somewhere in the background, soft tinkling music was playing. It was the kind of music that was easy to ignore, yet the more you ignored it, the more it got into your head, until you could hear nothing else. Thrum, thrum, thrum went the harp strings, as Alice felt her eyelids droop. From somewhere in the room, a small fire place was lit. It was an electric. As a result the area under the hood of Ginger's old car filled over time with a suitably explosive gas-air mixture. Ginger went to start his car after school but, with a disconnected battery, he got nowhere. Lifting the hood should have simply triggered a small spark in a relatively small receptacle -- it worked fine when it had been tested, perhaps the testing is what fouled the valve. The trigger did indeed successfully generate a spark but the spark ignited far more than intended.The hood.
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