Gilded Bay Our boots and our clothes, boys, are all in the pawn

Creepy. His lips stretch wider, tighter, revealing rows of gleaming ivory.

But he says nothing, for now. No, she hasn't answered his question yet. He waits until she has finally done so, and then--

"Why do you look for treasure?"

It isn't treasure. It is superfluous.

Treasure is intrinsic. Treasure is the meat on the bone.

Not pretty little shells.

What does she want?

What can she give?