There was little left to doubt about the lady's identity, and she was too angry to wonder about his, thinking that if he had said fuck it must have been Rochester and since he did not he was likely Middlesex. Both had been her opponents before. Alas, the lady didn't realize how wrong she was, but the red haze did not make her see clearly. Had she not been so uncertain about her talents, perhaps she would have reacted with a little less temperament and a little more decorum.
A fig, who ever compared the King's sceptre with a fig, she thought disparagingly. It was a most inelegant description. Snorting distinctly unlady like the Lady in Red departed to step forward as she was commanded. In that moment she suddenly realized she had not the foggiest notion of what she would rhyme.