"Good afternoon," says Long in that radio-quality voice of his, Masterpiece Theatre accent broadcasting from your tablets, folks. He's in his sitting room, a wall of books behind him, the fire blazing merrily to one side and a teacup in the hand that is not holding his tablet
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"I know, I am behind the times. Yourself, sir?"
Poor Stefan. Long will try and be gentle.
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(At least he's not telling you "YOU SHOULD KNOW ME, STEFAN". Since he hasn't even met the regular you yet.)
"Are you newly arrived?"
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"What is your name?"
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He gave a brief thought to whether or not he ought really be discussing someone's future timeline with them. But surely it was a general enough question...
"In the war between the States- yes, the fighting does stop. I advise you, however, not to ask me further about it-- please do not take that as a verdict that you will hate the answer, it is merely that in the first place I am not certain what the effects of your knowing the future in detail might be, and in the second because-- well-- I apologize, this will sound fantastical and absurd-- but I am not even certain if your future will be the same as what is history for me, do you follow?"
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