She would become defensive—what she did would be the thing that mattered. "And so shall I," replied Edgeworth Bess. Lucy grabbed the hand cannon, stuffing it with powder, nearly missing a swing of the sword meant for her neck. Was that it? Had she clothed this unhappy young man with glamour? Or was it because he was so alone? She could not get through the husks to the kernel of what really actuated her. " That satisfied something of her undefined hunger. It was too good to be true.
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