Finally, after who knows how many waves of intense vomiting, Sherryl finally stopped feeling nauseous, and the trembling young lady of the Kevendill family leaned weakly against the wall.
Thales also suppressed his revulsion as he tried his best to stay away from the large puddle of filth.
Ugh, it was half-digested steak—damn it, why did he have to think about that!
And so, amidst the messy filth and the pungent smell, Thales and Sherryl, both weak, sat on the ground back to back against the wall, shivering.
"Don't worry, I'll give the homeowner a little extra, for the cleaning fee."
"Is that the point? Ah, my clothes..."
"They're not yours; they're swiped from the theater."
Thales had no energy to argue with her; the aching in his body had reached its limit, and he felt so uncomfortable that he wanted to pass out on the spot.
"You—ugh—what's wrong with you?"
