too dear for my possessing - Säde/Julien - TeslaishineonOctober 22 2012, 16:17:43 UTC
When she casts off in the morning, it will be the first time she has left London in months. Her sailors are well-paid, have spent the time in-between lounging around or carousing, if they haven’t been too restless to decide to sign on to another airship. They’re unceremoniously routed out of their beds and inns, dragged back swearing up the ladders of the dock. Behind her back they mutter darkly, conjecturing what’s provoked her to leave so suddenly.
“Lord Smythe’s thrown her over,” they diagnose. “Like Madagascar, but with love.”
She holds her head high, sheds no tears before them.
“Lord Smythe’s thrown her over,” they diagnose. “Like Madagascar, but with love.”
She holds her head high, sheds no tears before them.
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Like Madagascar, though?
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