“A potato.” Percy did not open his eyes, but tugged her back against him in a proprietary way that Arsenic found she didn’t mind. She leaned on his chest with her forearms and looked down at him. “Why a potato?” “I feel as if I’d been boiled to within an inch of my life, then mashed, then whipped with butter.” “Sounds tasty.” “Painful was what I was alluding to.”
