Lucy grabbed the hand cannon, stuffing it with powder, nearly missing a swing of the sword meant for her neck. He shuddered. Gin is the poor man's friend,—his sole set-off against the rich man's luxury. She was trying to bring her problems to a head, and her mind insisted upon being even more discursive and atmospheric than usual. \"Really. She had warned him. Annabel lounged in her chair with a sort of insolent abandon in her pose, and wide-open eyes which never flinched or drooped. She rehearsed the story of her forlorn long lost mother in her head, what she would say to the theorymongers. The thought did not occur to her, for all thought had flown out of her head. Her face scarcely reflected his enthusiasm.
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