Rachel was thinking of a way to say delicately that she and her daughter did not need his money or labor or protection, only his company, when Mary Grace brushed a hand against Nobody’s wrist. A tiny movement, before she moved away to look out the window, but Nobody’s hands, which had not been still since they left the ship, stopped clasping and twisting. He finally stepped through the door.
I still can't deal with his name being nobody
