“We simply can’t allow ourselves to be enemies,” cut in Thorn. “You’re making my life difficult with your resentment; it’s imperative that we become reconciled. I’m not permitted to enter the Gynaeceum; meet me at the Treasury, insult me, slap me, smash a plate over my head if you feel like it, and then let’s never speak of it again. Name your day. This Thursday would suit me. Let’s say . . .” The sound of hastily turned pages could be heard in the ear trumpet. “Between eleven-thirty and twelve. Shall I put you down on my schedule?”
“Insult me, slap me, smash a plate over my head if you feel like it” is giving major Cardan vibes and I LOVE IT
