That nausea/rage came back in full force when she admitted that what he had first suspected was true. Even though he rationally knew that none of them were really responsible or to blame for what they had done, losing the glimmer of hope he had had also made him finally lose his temper.
Pushing away from the wall, he yelled, "Well, I don't know it could possibly have 'felt truer,' since anything that happened between you and me there was far less than what you did with him!" A little voice at the back of his mind chided him that he knew exactly what she meant, as he had experienced the same thing, but his need to vent his frustration quashed it. "I know I've been asking the two of you to get along, but that was not what I had in mind."
Pacing a few steps, he ran his fingers through his hair in frustration; instead of calming down, he got madder. "I suppose I should just be glad that Gisborne's not here and in Much's place, or I'd be hard pressed not to shoot him.
"Actually, you know what? Shooting something sounds really good right about now." Pivoting, he marched toward the door, snagging the case with his bow and quiver from where it rested below the coat hooks before grabbing hold of the door handle.