*in the captain's rooms, the candles are lit: the pirate himself is sat at the recalcitrant harpsichord which gave him such trouble when he first moved it in, repetitively pinging at one of the keys with the point of the hook. The illuminated copy of Paradise Lost lies open on the instrument's top. The recent fight with Spider, although he won
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It is not locked.
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Very well, thankyou.
*He hasn't got up to hug her, though not through any lack of volition...*
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She's clearly waiting for something.
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I am perhaps a little tired.
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Mr Spider was good enough to indulge me in another sparring match. We are neither of us injured greater than bruising and small cuts, do not distress yourself.
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"Promise?"
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I sustained one cut to my flank and his kicking at my shins has left a few marks, I confess, but I won the fight and did not cut him.
*Any mention of head-butting and half-nelsons carefully avoided...*
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She still isn't happy though.
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Only his pride, perhaps...
*..and mine, in some ways, he doesn't add*
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Perhaps I will not spar again for a while.
*He wonders how long Brigham's cake-induced straength will last...*
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