"I, I'm twenty-six or seven."
"I know you're twenty-six or seven!"
"Then, then, boss, why, why ask about this?"
Whew—the car pulled over to the side of the road, and he finally had both hands free to lift her head which she had buried down.
Her head was suddenly held and lifted by his hands, and her eyes opened wide, looking at him.
Such a pair of clear eyes, just looking at them made him feel guilty, hence, a hint of bitterness appeared at the corner of his lips: "If you were a mature woman, and you wanted to comfort an injured man, at the very least, it wouldn't be like buying a cake to cheer up a child. To a man, the best way to comfort him is—"
"What is it?" At this moment, she didn't stutter.
It was her tone, like an exemplary student, that irritated him, and his hands, in frustration, rubbed her head hard: "So I'm saying, you're not a mature woman. If you were a mature woman, would you need to ask?"
