Messalina emerged from her suite to share a light breakfast with her husband. It was not until he had finished munching his wine-soaked bread and cheese that Claudius finally responded to her careful pouting and asked what was wrong. Messalina's sulk darkened into a scowl. "I don't want to talk about it," she snapped.
"All right, don't then." Claudius shrugged.
Paul L. Maier, The Flames of Rome, p. 21
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