"Miss Enschede, you're seven kinds of a brick!" "A brick?" He chuckled. "Where is he?" asked she, in an agitated whisper. ’ ‘There is no need for this,’ he ventured mildly, and lifted his finger to show his own pistol was not cocked. . A ragged gray moustache drooped from the corners of his mouth and a ragged wisp of whisker hung from his chin. " "Lead the way to it then, Saint Giles," said Jack, in a tone of mock authority. Luckily, she was bereft of consciousness, and was thus spared the additional misery of witnessing what afterwards befell him. Still, the respite was sufficient for Spurlock to look about for some weapon. Blueskin might have butchered you and your brat before I'd have lifted a finger to prevent him, if it hadn't suited my purposes to do so, and he hadn't incurred my displeasure.
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