Auntie has taken the nails out of my palms, but the scars will always be there. Teenage boys never change, she thought to herself. Notwithstanding her emaciation, her features still retained something of a pleasing expression, and might have been termed beautiful, had it not been for that repulsive freshness of lip denoting the habitual dram-drinker; a freshness in her case rendered the more shocking from the almost livid hue of the rest of her complexion. But if God is kind to me, someday I may climb up to where you are. No pistols, no daggers today?’ ‘Would you have me show a pistol with so many soldiers? I am not a fool.
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