He stepped back with exaggerated courtesy. But when I walked past him, he swatted my rump. Hard enough to sting.“You need to be more careful,” he growled. “Keep interfering in my business, and you might get hurt.” I said sweetly as I continued to Jesse's room, “The last man who swatted me like that is rotting in his grave.”“I have no doubt about it.” His voice was more satisfied than contrite.
— Patricia Briggs
Iron Kissed
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