‘Jean,’ he gasped out during a brief lull between spasms of retching, ‘next time I conceive a plan like this, consider planting a hatchet in my skull.’ ‘Hardly efficacious.’ Jean swapped a full bucket for an empty one and gave Locke a friendly pat on the back. ‘Dulling my nice sharp blades on a skull as thick as yours . . .’
I love them your honour
