You know, it seems to me that one usually only gets called a murderous wench once in one’s life. If one is, one is henceforth hanged; if one is not, well, it is generally not an accusation one hears repeated. But the people around me have caused an exception to this generality. They’ve been repeating it so that they almost have me believing it. But, you see, I am not a wench. A wench is a piece of property, and a poor one at that, who sits about rustling her petticoats and calling for maids. Oh, no. I am not a murderous wench. I am a murderous pirate.
