I bound him up good and tight, stuffed his mouth with a length of rope, taped it shut. “Has she ever thought of buying a pair of foam earplugs?” Lucy asked. She had been obliged to spend the night in that fateful bedchamber, the faithful Kimble—who had foraged at a nearby inn, bringing back a large pie and a jug of porter for his mistress—guarding the door outside. ‘I thank you. And I don't want anything of yours destroyed, Hoddy. But now it’s beads by the cask—like the hold of a West African trader. What had shifted his casual interest was the visible prospect of a party of three who were coming down the packet gangplank. “I think we’ve exhausted this discussion,” she said.
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