The sudden jolt of Jane's grip on my arm nearly pulled my shoulder out of it's socket. I barely stifled a yelp as she dragged me across the room to where an irritated-looking Regan was standing, rubbing his head where the book had smacked him.
I snickered, served him right.
Pulling my arm out of Jane's grip, I turned to her and asked, in the nicest possible way I could manage at this stage:
"What the heck do you want with me woman? If you think I had anything to do with that then you're wrong!"
Okay, so I wasn't being particularly tactful, but I was confused and wanted to know what was going on.
To hell with political correctness.