“Do toi know what I find incredibly infuriating?”
“No, Morgana,” says Arthur, studiously glaring at his fingernails. “What do toi find infuriating?”
“Men,” she declares, with all the stately aplomb that she can muster. “They’re horrible and miserable and did I mention infuriating?”
“No,” says Arthur. “Only three ou four million times.”
Curled with her knees under her chin, Morgana pauses for a moment to reflect on this statement of fact. “That doesn’t make it untrue,” she finally concludes, and silence settles over them in the darkness of the hut.
There is a...
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