It's entirely possible that this man -- who'd once squirmed his way through a Danish chimney and another time tracked naked through a sewer in Coimbra -- actually pulled a face when he watched Effie lick the blood off her hand. He swore softly under his breath, then wondered whether he hadn't developed a sensibility or two since arriving in this town.

"You get nabbed by one of their bloody lists, Miss Trinket? And I'll make certain you've a pistol and ample cartridge." Anything, really, to keep her alive -- but he'd hand a precious firearm over no sooner than a draft itself. He cared for those guns; perhaps more than he cared for her.