Joan, champion of putting her foot in it, keeps going for gold. "Only thing I'll find with you is a puncture wound."

It's more grumbled than the defiant snarl of before. She's at the bottom of this particular hole, and he still hasn't struck. The anxiety of her situation gnaws at her, but it's become a low hum at the back of her mind. She wants to get this over with. If he's going to hit her, he ought to hurry up. She knows what to do when that happens. It's this nagging, gloating thing he's doing that's driving her nuts. That's what's making her feel like a real idiot.

Maybe that's the point.

"Don't tell me you're gonna try and spin fairyland to me again. Come on. What to do you want?"