They are lined up, shaking. Men and woman. I don't discriminate. All socialites, and they are now facing the harsh realities of the world. In fact it seemed these English chaps have taken a cruise of sorts. One by one. Sending each to the great ocean and Davies Locker. No remorse, no regret. Their ship will be nothing but a abandoned ghost ship when I'm done. My boots clank each step I take, the black powder loud. I halt, my eyes raking up the blue fabric of a dress.
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