Andrew sat in the guest room, in a chair specially prepared for him, to let the doctor take out the bullet for him.
Before the doctor came, Avery frowned and looked at the blood that had been pouring out of his shoulder. Finally, she tore her skirt and pressed the wound with broken cloth strips. Soon, her fair fingers were dyed red with blood.
Andrew opened his eyes and saw her in surprise, "I thought it's a doctor with crappy medical skills. I almost beat you."
"Which hand are you going to beat me with?" Avery was speechless. Andrew still wanted to beat people even if he was hurt. If he was competent, how could he get caught?
"It's you, and I hate to beat you."
"You don't want to say that beating is love, do you? Keep your hand and bite it in your mouth when the doctor takes out the bullet later."
"I have only one request."
