“Puberty? A growth spurt? Vitamins? Three meals a day?” Gibsie offered with a shrug. “She wasn’t stressed out at home or anxious puking every second minute? She’s being taken care of? Shit, I don’t know, lad. I don’t even care. But she’s glorious to look at, so don’t look a gift horse in the mouth and just appreciate it.” “You’ve been looking at her?” I demanded, furious. “While I’ve been gone?” “Ah, just the normal amount,” he coaxed, as if the normal amount would placate me. “Look, look, they’re wrestling with each other. Ah, lad. Fucking winning!”
