George sweating profusely
George, sweating profusely, insisted it wasn’t safe to interfere. “Martha, I don’t think it’s safe to touch it,” he said, wiping his forehead.
Martha’s eyes widened with frustration. “Then what do we do? Let it escape?” she retorted. George shook his head. “We need professional help,”
he explained, glancing nervously at the glass. Martha’s patience was wearing thin. “You’re the vet here, George!”
she yelled, her voice echoing in the kitchen. “Act like one!”