She miraculously withheld the sudden urge to hurl her drink in his face and then deck him. Not in a crowded pub. Surely that public an antic would get back to all the wrong people (especially mum). So she gripped her pint tightly and with barely controlled anger, took a long, hopefully calming sip of her drink.
"Are you looking for me to rearrange your face again?" Okay, so the drink hadn't really done much on the calming front. "Because your nose," she indicated with one finger, "is still looking kind of busted. Not quite as poncy as it used to be."