She used his own gun against him, a method that was occasionally cleaner than slitting throats when she got it right. She laughed altogether in her old manner. ‘My papa he does not wish me to marry the man I choose, and thus he places me in the convent that the nuns may lock me up and I cannot escape. He was beautiful and perfect, his blue eyes smiling at her. His hand flew across the paper. Sebastian had fetched tallow, which she angrily ordered him not to use, as she suspected its origin was not animal but human. At the back of her mind, dim and yet disconcerting, was the perception that she herself did not know what she wanted. But she was staring seaward and did not notice the offering. ‘Suppose you don’t know what sort of proof she was after?’ he asked. And the less “anything” happened the better. " "You're a philosopher, too.
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