“And how do I know you are serious?” she demanded. “Why should I risk losing face with my mentor and my fellow believers if your courage fails you and your offer is withdrawn?”
“You have my word,” he told her, voice shrill now; drawing himself up as she considered it, a ludicrous desire to prove to her she was wrong and he was truly a man of substance –even if it meant committing himself to both her and her philistine religion- forcing him on.
“Please, Anya,” he implored her, hating himself for his weakness; even if he justified it to himself as simply a means of getting his way – a chance to sate this baffling obsession with his servant before kicking her ugly Indian arse back to the untreated sewer from whence it came. Convincing himself with his usual talent self-delusion that her pow
