“I . . . hit him . . . elsewhere.”
“Where?”
“In his . . .In his inguine.”
“Oh, dear God.” It was unclear whether Ralston’s words were meant as prayer or blasphemy.
What was clear was that the woman was a gladiator.
“He called me a pie!” she announced, defensively. There was a pause. “Wait. That’s not right.”
“A tart?”
“Yes! That’s it!” She registered her brother’s fists and looked to Simon. “I see that it is not a compliment.”
“No. It is not.”