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He bared his teeth at his grandfather, and drew back his hand. “Like this.” The beechwood teeth landed in the midst of the fire with a plop, and at once began to sizzle.
Yeah. You deserve that, you old bastard.
“Mmphm,” he said. “Hell of a choice, there. A stick up the cock, or a finger up the backside, eh?” “More like two or three,” I said. “Repeatedly.” I gave him a small, decorous smile.
Love that Claire not only educating this man but simultaneously saying "Go fuck yourself-literally and figuratively" lmfao
It was easier to mourn for Rupert, who was safely gone, sped on his way by the hand of a friend.
Sobbing at my desk. Another one of my favorite characters. Although his death in the show was MUCH different. This version leaves him with more dignity.
Mary sneezed, and wiped her nose hastily with a fold of her plaid. She stared at Murtagh, eyes wide and baffled. I gazed down at the bulging saddle-bag, feeling a sudden deep chill that owed nothing to the weather outside. But it was Hugh Munro’s widow who sank to her knees, and with steady hands opened the bag and drew out the head of the Duke of Sandringham.
THATS RIGHT! YEAH! YESSSSSSSS! Deserved. JUSTICE SERVED.
