Cornwell spoke coolly. “You’re just a big bundle of hate, aren’t you?” She retrieved her chair and sat down. “Such rage. Do I need to find you a counselor? Someone to hurry you along through your stages? You seem to be stuck on anger.” Georgiou glared. “What are you talking about?” “Stages of grief,” Cornwell replied, picking up her slate and speaking matter-of-factly. “It was an old psychological construct. More of an aid to understanding than an actual progression.”
