.

" Michael, in Steward's arms, was snarling and growling intimidatingly, not merely at the cow whale but at all the hostile and menacing universe that had thrown panic into the two-legged gods of his floating world.
"Just for that," Daughtry snarled back, "I'll let 'm sing.

You made this mess, and if you lift a hand to my dog you'll miss seeing the end of the mess you started, you dirty pawnbroker, you." "Perfectly right, perfectly right," the Ancient Mariner nodded approbation.

"Do you think, steward, you could get a width of canvas, or a blanket, or something soft and broad with which to replace this rope?
It cuts me too sharply in the spot where my three ribs are missing." Daughtry thrust Michael into the old man's arm.
"Hold him, sir," the steward said.

"If that pawnbroker makes a move against Killeny Boy, spit in his face, bite him, anything.