With a whirl of black and red robes, Abrial doubled over. She seemed to be retching.
Finley sighed, leaning over, patting Abrial's arched back.
"You should not eat so many dumplings at once," she chided calmly. "You are bound to get sick like this."
Abrial heaved, shaking her head with difficulty.
"It's not — hic! — that," she moaned, hiccuping nauseously. "Maybe — a little. But…can you imagine — hic! — having to marry — hic! — that idiot? I'd — hic! — die of disgust! I'd rather die on the — hic! — the spot!!"
Finley frowned, patting Abrial's back gently.
"It would indeed not be favorable for you to marry him."
Abrial stood leaned over with her hands pressing on her knees for another moment, catching her breath. Breathing heavily, she stood. Her muscles all felt weak, like she was made up of noodles.
