A piece of seaweed touched her hand, tender and green. “He’d better treat you right this time or I’ll pulverize him, you hear?” Lucy gave in to the hug. A brief calm succeeded. In some incomprehensible way that back view made her feel sorry for Alice. Although Martha did not know it, she had her pistol and her daggers, and her knife. Elegant, a little scornful, she leaned slightly against the back of a chair and looked him steadily in the eyes. He looked from the sword to the dagger with which he had brought her down here, and grimaced. She went to her bedroom, but she did not go to bed.
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