Lucy pinned her hair off her neck and hoped it would make her to look decidedly older. We want to celebrate, and we want you to help us. You lie about your past all the time and you know it. The books would be soaked and ruined in the rain anyway through the thin skin of the pack. She did not see the metal pole swing toward the back of her skull, nor did she feel her own blood spoiling her light hair after the dull crack of metal broke her flesh. She shook her head. ‘We was of an age, you see, miss. She was naturally weaker, she would tire quicker, and she need not concern herself with the peculiar obligations of honour obtaining amongst gentlemen.
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