Solomon made a sound halfway between a strangled laugh and a growled objection. Something had been unleashed, he didn't know what; but it made the words come freely, still as hard as before even in spite of Raine's concession. "When did I ever give you the impression I'd do myself harm by being unduly stubborn? You've barely given me room to breathe, let alone try to get up and walk around on my own!"

He wouldn't have, anyway. He couldn't have, and he wasn't so foolish as to ignore that. But somehow it had become a sticking point, now, that he was finding retroactively that he wouldn't have been allowed. As if he didn't have the wherewithal to figure out for himself that, yes, he needed bed-rest. As if he was, in fact, as invalid as he feared himself to be.