It had been such a happy and absorbing little chore. These arms were nothing like the thick-barreled, graceless pieces she’d used all her life. These guns were like a lady’s fingernails: painted, manicured, and fine. After she prepared each one, she stuck it in her chain belt where it hung like jewelry. For a moment she forgot her hunger and weariness. She felt like strutting around. For the first time in memory, she wished for a mirror.
