From Ian Fleming's "For Your Eyes Only"
(Of Melina Havelock)
He had heard nothing to warn him, and when the soft, threatening whisper came from only feet away in the thick grass on his left, his head swiveled so sharply that the vertebrae of his neck made a cracking sound.
“Move an inch and I’ll kill you.” It had been a girl’s voice, but a voice that fiercely meant what it said.
Bond, his heart thumping, stared up the shaft of the steel arrow whose blue-tempered triangular tip parted the grass stalks perhaps eighteen inches from his head.
The bow was held sideways, flat in the grass. The knuckles of the brown fingers that held the binding of he bow below the arrow-tip were white. Then there was the length of glinting steel and, behind the metal feathers, partly obscured by waving strands of grass, were grimly clamped tips below two fierce eyes against a background of sunburned skin damp with sweat. That was all Bond could make out through the grass. Who the hell was this?
© 1960 by Glidrose Productions Ltd.