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Not that I intend to stake any man’s head to the ground…which would be very Old Testament. I digress.
Be a pirate, if you must, but do not try to do so as a ginger.
“Any last words before my impending doom?� I asked Young Hawkes. “Would you like your final rites?� Ominous. “If you’ve a blessing for me, Hawkes,� I said, picking up the glass, “now is the time.� He sighed. “Miss Lion, I bless you to slay the dragon.�
It felt as if it were…what can I say? A fission? An energy? All that mounting storm he carries about his person breaking in beautiful rain. And I thought to myself, This. This sort of battle, this kind of argument, this laughter when we realise we are saying the same thing—this is what I wish from life.
What else was I thinking�? Oh yes, the second thought occupying my mind. My particular specie of Islington seems to find great pleasure in treating our every conversation as if it were a fencing match. Subtle, yes, and with dignity as stiff as his collar, but a spar, nonetheless. I always feel as if I’m holding a sword when he’s left. I shall have to remember to bring one to the dinner party.
