Jane Sampson had sworn up and down to Old Master Black and the others on her way over that she would really apply herself in the afternoon's practice, not expecting to make leaps and bounds but at least to see some small progress.
But in reality, she had to take back every word she had said.
She had intended to practice diligently, but after too many off-target shots, it wasn't just a matter of whether James Black still had enough patience—she herself was the first to lose it.
As Jane Sampson headed back, she thought to herself that she would rather tackle three to five examination papers than continue with marksmanship training.
Sharpshooters be damned; what could she do about it? If talent wasn't there, she was just as desperate.
Or rather, she would rather spend her afternoon like Old Master Black, practicing boxing than wasting it all here.