Savine stared. “My father used to say that.” “Which one? Old Sticks?” He leaned from the bed and fished up his iron leg again. “I can’t say we got on.” He jammed his stump into the padded socket and started to fasten the buckles. “But no one ever denied he was a clever bastard. Can’t be lying around, Savine. I’ve got work to do!” And he grasped his cane and stood. She sat in silence as he limped out, teeth gritted. Click, tap, grunt. Click, tap, grunt. That mixture of cunning, ruthlessness, burning ambition and constant pain was far from unfamiliar. She had heard it said that every woman ends
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So good
