Free A Gun for Sale by Graham Greene

handsome fellows. But I’m educated. I’ve thought things out.’ He said quickly, ‘I’m wasting time. I ought to get started.’
    ‘What are you going to do?’ she asked, scrambling to her feet.
    ‘Oh,’ he said in a tone of disappointment, ‘you are scared again. You were fine when you weren’t scared.’ He faced her across the kitchen with the automatic pointed at her breast. He pleaded with her. ‘There’s no need to be scared. This lip – ’
    ‘I don’t mind your lip,’ she said desperately. You aren’t bad-looking. You ought to have a girl. She’d stop you worrying about that lip.’
    He shook his head. ‘You’re talking that way because you are scared. You can’t get round me that way. But it’s hard luck on you, my picking on you. You shouldn’t be so afraid of death. We’ve all got to die. If there’s a war, you’ll die anyway. It’s sudden and quick: it doesn’t hurt,’ he said, remembering the smashed skull of the old man – death was like that: no more difficult than breaking an egg.
    She whispered, ‘Are you going to shoot me?’
    ‘Oh no, no,’ he said, trying to calm her, ‘turn your back and go over to that door. We’ll find a room where I can lock you up for a few hours.’ He fixed his eyes on her back; he wanted to shoot her clean: he didn’t want to hurt her.
    She said, ‘You aren’t so bad. We might have been friends if we hadn’t met like this. If this was the stage-door. Do you meet girls at stage-doors?’
    ‘Me,’ he said, ‘no. They wouldn’t look at me.’
    ‘You aren’t ugly,’ she said. ‘I’d rather you had that lip than a cauliflower ear like all those fellows who think they are tough. The girls go crazy on them when they are in shorts. But they look silly in a dinner jacket.’ Raven thought: if I shoot her here anyone may see her through a window; I’ll shoot her upstairs in the bathroom. He said, ‘Go on. Walk.’
    She said, ‘Let me go this afternoon. Please. I’ll lose my job if I’m not at the theatre.’
    They came out into the little glossy hall, which smelt of paint. She said, ‘I’ll give you a seat for the show.’
    ‘Go on,’ he said, ‘up the stairs.’
    ‘It’s worth seeing. Alfred Bleek as the Widow Twankey.’ There were only three doors on the little landing: one had ground-glass panes. ‘Open the door,’ he said, ‘and go in there.’ He decided that he would shoot her in the back as soon as she was over the threshold; then he would only have to close the door and she would be out of sight. A small aged voice whispered agonizingly in his memory through a closed door. Memories had never troubled him. He didn’t mind death; it was foolish to be scared of death in this bare wintry world. He said hoarsely, ‘Are you happy? I mean, you like your job?’
    ‘Oh, not the job,’ she said. ‘But the job won’t go on for ever. Don’t you think someone might marry me? I’m hoping.’
    He whispered, ‘Go in. Look through that window,’ his finger touching the trigger. She went obediently forward; he brought the automatic up, his hand didn’t tremble, he told himself that she would feel nothing. Death wasn’t a thing she need be scared about. She had taken her handbag from under her arm; he noticed the odd sophisticated shape; a circle of twisted glass on the side and within it chromium initials, A.C.; she was going to make her face up.
    A door closed and a voice said, ‘You’ll excuse me bringing you here this early, but I have to be at the office till late …’
    ‘That’s all right, that’s all right, Mr Graves. Now don’t you call this a snug little house?’
    He lowered the pistol as Anne turned. She whispered breathlessly, ‘Come in here quick.’ He obeyed her, he didn’t understand, he was still ready to shoot her if she screamed.
    She saw the automatic and said, ‘Put it away. You’ll only get into trouble with that.’
    Raven said, ‘Your bags are in the kitchen.’
    ‘I know. They’ve come