John was acutely focused upon her now, just as she had wanted him to be. ‘You damned little fool! How dared you steal my sword?’ Her eyes flew open. He played for an hour—Grieg, Chopin, Rubenstein, Liszt, crashing music. ‘Is that why you allowed me in, ma’am?’ A dimple appeared in the faded cheek. “Suppose, for example, I go to this dance?” “You won’t. Let—it—fall. Jack now carefully closed the shutters, while Blueskin struck a light, with which he set fire to a candle. Now I am sorry to cross you in anything you have set your heart upon, but I regret to say—” “H’m,” he reflected, and crossed out the last four words. "I'll see him fettered myself.
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