Edgar has been laboring over his Latin lately; when he takes his customary walks, he recites conjugations and declensions like a prayer, and he has devoted countless hours to the Ovid translation that was his Christmas present
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He makes a clumsy partial bow in return, unused to the formality of it; then, with a gracious farewell to Mary, he takes his leave of the two of them and goes to write his notes.
And with Edgar gone, Kavi begins to look rather older, and takes Mary's wrist a little harder than necessary: he is very angry at Pyetr Ilitch, considerably angry, and, as Pyetr Ilitch cares for Mary, she's better a person to take it out on as anyone.
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