I put my wallet away again, clipped my own flash to my pocket and reached suddenly for the little gun she was still holding in the same hand with the flashlight, but I got the gun. She stepped back quickly and I reached down for the light. I put it on her face for a moment, then snapped it off.

‘You didn’t have to be rough,’ she said, putting her hands down into the pockets of a long rough coat with flaring shoulders.

Farewell My Lovely - Raymond Chandler