"Poetry, is it?" Oliver said, sighing.
"Well, a poem could be as short as four lines. It could be the simplest of metaphors, one could take it at face value, and be completely unmoved by it. But as soon the eyes begin to see deeper, they see things that the writer might not even have intended, things that aren't there – and thus does the heart stir," Verdant said.
"Stop!" Amelia said, she was bright red by now. "Don't make it worse, Lord Idris, I beg of you…"
"It is a mere bandage on a hand, Amelia," Verdant said. Even he seemed to have lost his patience now. "Snatch it off, and be done with it."
With Verdant telling her to hurry, there were no more corners for Amelia to back into. With her hand moving as fast as a cat's, she clawed at the bandaged, and pulled it all off in a single swift and sudden jerk. The bandage caught, and the fingers and thumb well pulled. It was enough of a wrench that it pulled Oliver sideways in his chair.
