“You’re bleeding,” she said. “Good thing the knife isn’t as rusty as your skill and patience.”
His hand was sticky. He touched his neck and found it sticky, too. With all the other aches, he hadn’t noticed his neck was cut.
“Damn it, Linsora!”
She shrugged and offered a tiny smile.
Without taking his eyes off her, he fumbled for some kind of cloth on the table behind him. He yanked the entire tablecloth off, sending an assortment of cups and plates clattering to the floor.
“You won’t die,” she said. “The cut’s already sealing. Better to leave it alone than stick that cloth on it. When’s the last time you washed the thing?”
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