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“Blam! Blam!”
The sawn-off shotgun in the hands of the masked man boomed twice in quick succession, filling the shop with the smell of cordite and doing fatal damage to the two women in front of him. The younger of the two, who appeared to be about a decade older than his forty years, flinched when she saw his finger tighten on the trigger; by contrast the older woman, who could have been the younger woman’s mother, didn’t react, she simply stared at him, accepting her fate almost stoically.
They were brave, he couldn’t deny that - much as he disliked the thought, he had to admit the two Indian women were braver than any of the British women he had known, none of them would have been so calm in the face of death - but he had seen the fear they tried to hide, fear which remained even
