The Wastrel—as we call him—cannot play when he's sober; hands too shaky. "Good Lord!—cannibals?" "Aye. But his lips were honourlocked. ‘Then mayhap this will persuade you!’ With a scrape of steel, he drew his sword from its scabbard. “My arrival appears to be opportune,” he said stiffly. " Mrs. . Wood, who was standing at the edge of a raised platform, anxiously waving his hand to him.
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