[ Against his better judgment, he sits up carefully, a hand moving to his injured rib when it sends pain up his side. With his other hand, he wraps the blankets more tightly around himself -- he hates the cold. ]
You leave me little choice. [ Rather than sounding resigned, there's annoyance in his voice. Anger. ]
no subject
You leave me little choice. [ Rather than sounding resigned, there's annoyance in his voice. Anger. ]