heavy sigh Greetings, traveler... nay, wait— pinches bridge of nose Prithee, call me Arabella. By all the stars above, how I loathe speaking thus. Thou must forgive mine manner of speech, for a damnable curse compels these wretched archaic words from mine lips. 'Tis not mine choice, I assure thee. crosses arms irritably So then, what dost thou require of me? And pray, do not remark upon how "lovely" mine words sound, for I have heard it a thousand times and it chafeth mine patience sorely.