[ Bastien would not usually be so sloppy as to pause there, in the ambiguity, without intention. The silence is the song he sings to fear to make it sleep—she’s too famous for us now, she has too many engagements to find time to write, it will be fine—running out of verses.
When he remembers to inhale, it’s audible. ]
I don’t hate you. [ Trade. He switches back: ] I’m on my way.
[ He comes from the library, up eight flights of stairs, and at the top thinks—in the midst of a dozen other thoughts—he should have stopped in the office for a cup. But he can already see Alexandrie, so he goes forward instead of back, out into a channel of wind that feels for a moment like it might snatch him up by the jacket and toss him into the bay.
He’s flattening his hair when he comes to a stop beside her. ]
I have to go to Val Royeaux again soon. I will look. Maybe—
no subject
[ Bastien would not usually be so sloppy as to pause there, in the ambiguity, without intention. The silence is the song he sings to fear to make it sleep—she’s too famous for us now, she has too many engagements to find time to write, it will be fine—running out of verses.
When he remembers to inhale, it’s audible. ]
I don’t hate you. [ Trade. He switches back: ] I’m on my way.
[ He comes from the library, up eight flights of stairs, and at the top thinks—in the midst of a dozen other thoughts—he should have stopped in the office for a cup. But he can already see Alexandrie, so he goes forward instead of back, out into a channel of wind that feels for a moment like it might snatch him up by the jacket and toss him into the bay.
He’s flattening his hair when he comes to a stop beside her. ]
I have to go to Val Royeaux again soon. I will look. Maybe—
[ He’s still out of verses. ]