He's sitting quietly, smiling in a faint, elegant sort of way into the pages of a book. His fingers, pale and graceful, turn the pages once.
Twice.
His focus is utterly upon the text as a mysterious twist of his lips curls and uncurls, his figure a portrait of refinement and poise.
Then he snorts.
"Oh please. Poor dork."...a complicated
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Comments 41
"Granya?"
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"She's out for the evening, I'm afraid. I'm quite willing to sit and wait for her, stubborn thing that I am, but you'd just be wasting your time."
He stands and offers a bow.
"My lady..."
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"Good evening, sir. Do you know where I might find her?"
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"I'm afraid while I am informed of most of her comings and goings, I am not informed of them all."
He bows his head.
"Also, my apologies, my lady, as I did not even offer you the courtesy of my seat nor my name. Robert Bentley, at your service."
And he bows again before gesturing to what he knows is the most comfortable chair in the sitting room.
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"Is it really so engrossing?"
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"I played the part of Amintor in this play a rather long time ago," he says with a fond smile at the play. "Have you read 'The Maid's Tragedy'?"
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"Not for some time."
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