“I will give her a wide berth, and stop my ears with wax, though, by the Gods! this is no siren song.”
Domitia leaned over the side of the vessel.
“Are they sharp, Lucius?”
“Are what sharp, Domitia?”
“The beaks.”
“Sharp as lancets.”
“And strong?”
“Strong as rams.”
“Then, Lucius, we will not give her wide berth. You loved my father. You regard me. You will do what I desire, for his sake and for mine.”
“What would you have of me?”