"You are my prisoner, Jack. " "If it were so, he would have great reason to be proud of the relationship, truly," observed Wood, shrugging his shoulders. “That is very nice of you,” she said. Lucy grabbed the hand cannon, stuffing it with powder, nearly missing a swing of the sword meant for her neck. Sebastian physically restrained her as she hit and scratched at him, trying to touch her mother who went swiftly into her death throes. Her two sticks were bare and brown, her snugged canvas drab, her brasses dull, her anchor mottled with rust.
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