Zelgadis’s grumbled comment leaves Rezo with a brief flare of incredulity; he doesn’t see how he’s stopping Zelgadis from yelling at him. What does Zelgadis want from him? To shout back?

Rezo’s head droops, and he languidly lifts a hand to rest it on his forehead and cover his eyes.

“...I believe I had some idea that I would be able to keep Him under control,” Rezo admits. “You know how well that turned out.”

Perhaps he should keep silent, or stick to bland non-answers. And yet he finds himself wanting to say something, anything, of more substance than their usual exchanges. Of course, what comes out is pathetically self-piteous:

“You may as well yell at me and call me a damned idiot. I won’t deny you.”