” She said as she rested her head against his chest, eyes unfocused on the fading sky. The Wastrel—as we call him—cannot play when he's sober; hands too shaky. ‘You put that thing away now, missie. “Please search everywhere,” she said. " The spinsters nodded approvingly. “I do hope I have been able to make you understand how I feel, that you don’t consider me a hopeless prig. Gerald glanced down and saw her dash at a spread of blood on his own hand, only now realising that her dagger had found its mark. "There's the exact expression I want. “Dear me!” he said.
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