The sword, Jacques. You've betrayed yourself, Thames. But I'll be more lenient, and content myself with merely chastising you, on condition—" "You may do as you please, master," interrupted Jack, thrusting his hand into his pocket, as if in search of the knife; "but I wouldn't advise you to lay hands on me again. The Wastrel—as we call him—cannot play when he's sober; hands too shaky.
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