Indeed, Miss Ives. [It is with an ease of familiarity. It is good to speak to people from home, who seem to know its ways and manners. But part of him, a little voice in his head that seems to speak with the velvet smoothness of Lord Henry, sings in his ear that it is better to be out of London. Better, surely. To be free?
The thought flickers through his brain; his smile quivers. A flower recalling the brush of a human hand—a flower that has been tampered, even pulled on, but not quite yet plucked. But then the smile reasserts itself, more strongly, and he continues,] And of the Seelie court, now. Will you be able to meet me in that court, or would the Station suit you better?
[(Are all the other Victorians in Unseelie. Is he the odd Victorian out.)]
no subject
The thought flickers through his brain; his smile quivers. A flower recalling the brush of a human hand—a flower that has been tampered, even pulled on, but not quite yet plucked. But then the smile reasserts itself, more strongly, and he continues,] And of the Seelie court, now. Will you be able to meet me in that court, or would the Station suit you better?
[(Are all the other Victorians in Unseelie. Is he the odd Victorian out.)]