"One flesh one end my ass," snaps Gideon as she stalks out of the kitchen and pulls the door open.  Relief stabs through her at the sight of Palamedes on the threshold.  "She's in the lounge.  Maybe you can get some fucking sense out of her.  I'm below that, apparently." She turns and heads for her bedroom.  Harrow might have sorted her own clothes out but Gideon's? Are gross.