..”She trailed off, looking up at me curiously. “Why isn’t it as good a likeness of him?”I grinned. “Because he drew it. And he doesn’t se... himself the way everyone else does. Still, it’s pretty close.”“He drew this?” She traced his face tenderly.“He drew all of these.” I gestured around myself. It was true; at my insistence, our sitting room was full of my husband’s artwork – pictures of friends and loves ones, but also scenery, weapons ... whatever caught his fancy.I didn’t display most of. We demand quarter."The boy hit me backhanded with his sword still in his fist. He had to reach up to do it, but it was a pretty solid blow. The hand guard split open my cheek and his knuckles broke my nose again, smashing it sideways.When I howled and swung back at him, George made a break for it, running toward the dark river, staying low and weaving left and right. Somebody whacked me to the sand with a musket stock, and I took a couple of kicks so I stayed down."Fire!" the young officer. More

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