‘Bloody Count Radosav!’ spat the countess. ‘What a bore, what a bastard, what a menace to the public good, what a goat’s anus, eh, Ignatios?’ The priest inclined his head. ‘I am forced to deplore the language but with the substance I must regretfully concur.’ ‘A tyrant to his underlings, a sycophant to his superiors, and to his equals the most arrogant, stubborn, contrarian … ugh, ugh!’ She mimed sticking fingers down her throat. ‘His demands, his disputes, my orchard, my wheatfield, my village. I swear if you gave him the world he’d want more. And now he’s gone to war with me! Or me with him,
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