“‘The Mariner’s Demise,’” she said softly. “From Myrddin’s book of poems.” “Yes,” he said, sounding taken aback. “I didn’t realize you knew it.” “Literature students aren’t the only ones who can read,” she snapped, and then instantly regretted the razor edge to her voice. She’d shown her bitterness and envy too plainly. Perhaps Preston could already guess why she loathed him so much. But all he said was, “Right.”
Jeez. She needs to chill. 🫥
