Squeeze the life’s blood from his beating heart, my girl, and get a little of your own back from him.” “Had he one to speak of, I might be tempted to do just that,” Lydia said savagely. Giles chuckled. “If you might only have seen him last evening, you would know he has got one indeed—and it isn’t buried so far down as either of you imagine. He wears it here,” he said, with a gesture of one hand. “Just upon his sleeve. Yours for the taking.” Or, perhaps, for the breaking.
