[The looking glass is moved slowly from one point to another, showing a panorama of an utterly wrecked garden. Most notably the flowers that used to make quite a pretty bed lie in a pile, those not torn to pieces still managing a faint tune
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[ Oh yes, he's following that conversation...]
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[She takes a moment to consider her wording. After all, this was the man she informed that she had her husband around to protect her.]
To be frank, I was more concerned about him.
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and a semi-audible half-sigh half-grunt, which she might or might not notice, accompanied by a small headshake. He hasn't decided to speak yet - but he might. ]
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[It's somewhat hesitant. She's still not used to addressing people so intimately.]
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You found your husband.
[ sort of flatly, like... JL was never really in any danger, and who wants to find JL anyway? ]
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Oh--Madam Mireille...--are you all right? Were you harmed?
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Only the flowers had to suffer, Monsieur Tarrant. Is it too cruel to deem that fortunate?
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