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“Janco leaned on the threshold of my door with his face creased in annoyance. “Did she just—” “Yes.” “But I don’t—” “Yes. You do. We both stink.” “Well, I’m not—” “Yes. You are.” He huffed. “You won’t let—” “No. No complaining. Let’s go.” I grabbed a clean shirt and pants from my saddlebags. “Well, she could have handled it better,” he grumped. “No. She couldn’t.” He settled into a sulky silence as we visited the bathhouse.” — Maria V. Snyder
Janco leaned on the threshold of my door with his face creased in annoyance. “Did she just—”
“Yes.”
“But I don’t—”
“Yes. You do. We both stink.”
“Well, I’m not—”
“Yes. You are.”
He huffed. “You won’t let—”
“No. No complaining. Let’s go.” I grabbed a clean shirt and pants from my saddlebags.
“Well, she could have handled it better,” he grumped.
“No. She couldn’t.”
He settled into a sulky silence as we visited the bathhouse.