[ A considering hum for that. Her forehead wrinkles; a tiny line of thought. ]

What think you of the few of us meeting wherever it is we meet for 'something that will not drag on all night' slightly earlier than those on the larger list? Then we shall all be comfortable to begin with, with an expected return to—

[ She cuts herself off with an interjection that's as much aggrieved huff as word, ]

Alors, je me prends pour qui— it is less than a month and I mantle wings over him and hiss and snap at... [ Exasperated with herself, she picks up her fork and gestures emphatically with it, ] shadows of shadows.

[ Thinning her lips, she wiggles a strawberry back and forth until it is free from the crust and then lets it sit and stick itself back down with a quiet sigh. ]

He is not a child, and I have little right.