[ She's wondering how to best extract herself from this conversation while he prattles on about boots and tea and women and she really could just hex him but she's going to reign in her temper and bite her tongue—

Large. Cornish. Girl. ]

Beg pardon. [ What if she just slapped that smug look off his face? The indignation is there, the idea that he doesn't know a thing about her, what she's survived, what she's done and seen. ] First of all, I'm from Devon, thanks very much, and second of all, try that cheek with me one more time and we'll see how clever you think you are when you're wobbling around on jellied legs and being attacked by your own bogies.