She stood up.
But in an instant, Samuel Johnson pinched her wrist.
Amanda Smith's pores seemed to explode at that moment; she couldn't help stepping back, her heel resting against the edge of the sofa, with nowhere left to retreat, she could only look at him with some panic.
Perhaps even she hadn't realized that while she loved him, she had begun to fear this man.
The injuries she had once suffered had accumulated to a certain degree, waiting for an explosive burst at any moment.
"Samuel..." She moved her lips nervously and asked, "What are you going to do?"
She was scared...
Samuel Johnson stared at Amanda Smith's slightly panicked face, her wrist in his palm so slender it seemed a gentle twist could break it. She really was pitifully thin; this illness had taken away the last bit of rosiness from her body, leaving her appearing frail and delicate as if a gust of wind could knock her down.
