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“Don’t be so hard on yourself,” Damiskos managed. “I’m sure you could do a fine job of picking olives.” Varazda looked as if he was struggling, very prettily, to suppress a smile.
What a mass of contradictions the fellow was.
He could stop pretending to be in love with Varazda now, because he really was.
“I see.” Varazda gave him an arch look. “Do you?” “Look, I’m giving it an effort, you insufferable fellow. I don’t know what more you want.”
“What am I going to do when you go back to Boukos and leave me?” The words could have been light, almost joking, but they were not; his voice shook as he spoke, and he knew he sounded anguished.
This almost killed me
