"My what?" Forrester said. "Oh. Face. Fine. Street brawls, you said?"
"I did," Venus said. "My goodness, the way you bashed that one bruiser with your drink—that was really excellent. As a matter of fact, I feel it incumbent on me to tell you that I haven't enjoyed a fight so much in years."
Wondering whether he should be complimented or just a little ashamed of himself, Forrester said nothing at all. The idea that he had been under the personal supervision of Aphrodite herself bothered him more than he could say. The brawl was the first thing that came to mind. It didn't seem like the sort of thing a Goddess of Love ought to have been watching.
And then he thought of the High Priestess.
He felt a blush creeping up around his collar, and was thankful only that it was not visible under the tan of his skin. He remembered who had ordered the sacrificial rites, and thought bitterly and guiltily about spectator sports.
But his face remained perfectly calm.
"So far," Venus said, "I must say that you have come through with flying colors. You should be proud of yourself."
Forrester didn't feel exactly proud. He wanted to crawl into a hole and die there.
"Well," he said, "I—"
"But there is more," Aphrodite said.