Oh, Petyr. [His hand went to his heart, as if there was an insult strung to sting him right in the chest.] What a thing to say!
[It wasn't much of a thing to say, not with Chilton; he barely found true smearing in the merit of self-preservation. What he addressed was much more Petyr's tone. That brief smile.]
no subject
[It wasn't much of a thing to say, not with Chilton; he barely found true smearing in the merit of self-preservation. What he addressed was much more Petyr's tone. That brief smile.]
However shall I cope?