“So. . .” she says once we’re on our way to town. “You’re going to grill me, aren’t you?” She folds her hands on her lap. “Yes.” “There’s no escape?” “No, there is not.” “As you wish,” I quip. I mentally gird my loins for this battle. Not exactly a land war in Asia, and there’s no iocane powder to speak of, but it’s going to be a back-and-forth worthy of Vizzini and the Dread Pirate Roberts.
