[ Instead of racing to Childermass, Celandine will head for Lambert, scampering up his trouser leg to curl herself in his lap. The witcher's fingers go to her fur, automatically, though his gaze remains distant, brows knitting together as he scowls. ]
If she's still angry? [ He asks, like it beggars disbelief -- and maybe, for someone like Lambert, it does. ] Then she should have thrashed me the rest of the way in that coliseum and gotten it out.
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If she's still angry? [ He asks, like it beggars disbelief -- and maybe, for someone like Lambert, it does. ] Then she should have thrashed me the rest of the way in that coliseum and gotten it out.