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Post by Armand Faure on Dec 21, 2008 23:20:55 GMT -5
Armand was a bit famous, now. He had always had a reputation the petty thieves and mongers, but now the higher-ups knew about him. The odd thing was, he did not care in the slightest. His mind was elsewhere. There was no Constanza Deville on record, including at the orphanage, and a dark man in a frightful mask haunted his sleep. It was the very image of insanity, this, pining for a non-existent beauty and hunting for a murderous ghost. Maybe, just maybe, he was in a Shakespearian play, and no one was telling him. Or, just maybe, the world really was as insane as it looked.
Anyway, he was known, now, and not only for his obsessive search for the Phantom or his steadfast devotion to arresting cons. He was famous for the arrest of Riffael Dureau, a man once known only for his purposeless drinking and whoring, and now known as an obsessive pursuer of the beautiful, and engaged, Mademoiselle Carlisle. He had been conducting extensive studies on the residents of the Populaire for his own purposes, and had seen more than a little bit of evidence that Dureau was telling the truth. Yet he had gone personally to the jeweller whose stamp marked the ring to confirm his suspicions, and had been surprised to find that the man swore it was Deloncre who purchased it. Oddly enough, there was a little Italian girl following him about, the mute costumer, who was mouthing at him and prodding him and whose feet left bloody stains on carpets. He had managed to shake her a while ago, thank goodness, using some of his old skills of evasion. And now he was waiting for Constanza Deville, the non-existent beauty, to show up when she said she would.
He highly doubted that she would appear, and even placed himself away from the window so that he would not shame himself by gazing out of it every few seconds to check. His curiosity burned like a longing, and it was seriously starting to irk him.
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Post by Constanza Deville on Dec 23, 2008 19:21:25 GMT -5
Constanza stood next to a pitiful fire in alleyway across the street from the Café Noir. She had been standing there for quit some time pondering whether she should really go in or not. ’Your already all dolled up so go ahead and meet with your inspector.” One of the many thieves also around fire chimed in, which set a ripple of laughter throughout the gang. They found hilarious that their great and terrible Anais was made up in some fancy dress and locks brushed out and cleaned. Stanza shot a death glare at them, which made them shut up.
Well at least I’m entertaining someone, she though as she pulled the hood of the cloak over her head. Can’t believe I’m doing this, I’m just wanting to get caught aren’t I? She didn’t have really much of a choice though. Go and spin more stories to cover her ass or not show up and make him suspicious of her even more. She heaved a sigh and briskly walked across the street with her comrades rooting hr on. Stanza had half a mind to tell the inspector that her purse had been stolen and point him in their direction.
Taking in a deep breath she opened the door and stepped in with a look of confidence as if she had walked in here everyday. In fact she had never stepped foot in any café before, and only in a store when she was stealing something, luckily she quickly spotted Monsieur Inspector and didn’t have to stand around like she had no idea what to do. Putting on her usual smirk she glided up to the table, “Inspector Louis Faure.” She said while slipping off the hood of her cloak and letting her loose brown curls fall around her face. Even is she thought this was complete ridiculous for her to be doing, might as well play it up as best she can.
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Post by Armand Faure on Jan 22, 2009 3:01:56 GMT -5
Armand was thinking of many things. Dureau, for one, and the mystery of the ring. Who did it belong to? The jeweller himself said Deloncre, and facts did, too. A little calculation had shown that Riffael's salary versus his purchases could not have amounted to the cost of the ring if he started saving for it from when he and Mlle. Carlisle first met. There was evidence that Dureau had been saving, though, because his purchases dimmed to only enough food to stay alive and absolutely nothing else. It was a grand ring, though, for a man who works flies.
He was jarred by a voice that had haunted him into unrest the night before: “Inspector Louis Faure.” Armand was unprepared for that. Louis? What...? His shocked gaze flew up just as the hood was drawn back and luscious chocolate-brown curls tumbled out. He swallowed. In the light, there was no ignoring or denying her stunning appearance. More than just a pleasing face and form, her eyes sparkled with an inner intelligence and mischeif with which he could identify. He had hardly ever seen such clever enthusiasm in a woman of such beauty before. The effect was stunning.
Luckily, he was not the kind that often ran his mouth off before his brain started working. Unfortunately, he also didn't move. Just stared. Finally able to form a coherent thought, "Louis" rose and bowed over "Mlle. Deville"s hand, then pulled out her seat for her. "I was half expecting that you would skip town, Mademoiselle," He said sincerely, not in the mood for skipping around the conversation. Still, that comment was hardly tactful, so he smiled playfully and added, "So that you might escape my boorish company. I promise you, though, I will not hold you at gunpoint this evening." Oh, he hoped that was a wise promise.
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Post by Constanza Deville on Aug 5, 2009 14:29:11 GMT -5
Stanza had been plagued all night with thoughts of impending meeting. Nearly every situation that could happen had ran through her head about a dozen times. Even when she was finally able to fall asleep her dreams where burdened with the task of figuring out different scenarios that could play out this evening. And now here was the moment that she should have slapped herself for allowing to happen. She had already let to much spill the yesterday, and the unnerving fact that all the thought-out scenarios ended in with her in jail, or running made her wonder why she even decided to come at all. Even if she would have seemed suspicious not coming, it wasn’t like she had actually confirmed that she would and she could have always come up with some sort of excuse. When did she start thinking so irrationally?
The other corner of her mouth curled up into an amused smile as she looked down at the man she blamed for it staring up at her. Stanza had uneasily been aware of the fact that she was attracted to disarrayed inspector, she hadn’t been aware though that it might be mutual. Least that’s she impression she got from the near slack jawed state. Stanza never thought of herself as looking appealing to the eye so she had to hold back a laugh when he seemed to finally decide that being a bit responsive would be a good idea. Her eyes simply danced with amusement when he bowed over her hand and pulled her chair out, like if she was a Lady or something. The boys would have a row if they saw this.
Knowing crossing her arms or leaning on the table, what she’d normally do, wouldn’t be ‘proper’. So not knowing where else to put them she placed them on her lap, one hand over the over, and she pushed her shoulders back, not being to dignified a stance but at least not showing her terrible posture. "I was half expecting that you would skip town, Mademoiselle," Her eyebrow quirked up at that. She certainly had a reason to, but did he know why yet? The hairs on the back of her neck stood up as she suddenly became very alert of her surroundings. He did know! And an second he or some lackeys he brought with him or going to arrest her! The scenarios flashed through her head again. The only sign of her panic was a sudden frown and a quick glance around the room.
Stanza was about to snap at the mocking smile she perceived he had on until he added on "So that you might escape my boorish company. I promise you, though, I will not hold you at gunpoint this evening." Taking in a deep breath she tried to calm her nerves. Don’t get to wrung up, you must take his comments like you’re a completely innocent person. “Yesterdays meeting was anything but boring! So why would I think you were boorish company?” she said putting on her most charming smile she could after having a five second jump into her real self, alarm on and ready to fight. “I hold you to that. Might put a damper on the evening if you do.” she said with a light laugh that released the last of her nerves. She was still alert though and now ready for any interrogation that might and will undoubtedly ensue. “So, tell me why in fact you invited me out tonight? Catching up with past acquaintances?” Though she knew that it wouldn’t be catching up since Constanza Deville didn’t exist until a few months ago
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Post by Armand Faure on Aug 5, 2009 21:23:12 GMT -5
She slipped into the chair with feigned grace. He could not help but smirk to himself--it was a grace of that particular breed which is borne of small windows, dark corridors and sleeping victims. It was a grace which he shared. She folded her hands in her lap and pulled back her shoulders; he had to admit, she cut a stunning figure. It took a great deal of effort not to slide his eyes down her body like the lusty young thief that he was at heart, and to remain the cool and calculated gentleman he pretended to be.
She seemed under duress because of his comment. Her eyes glinted with an unladylike threat, a dangerousness that was not suggested by her soft and womanly looks. He filed that away. Even so, she seemed relaxed very quickly, and he began to doubt that he even saw her look tense. Maybe he was searching for things, seeing what was not there because he was watching too closely for its presence.
Armand inclined his head gently with a small, gracious smile, accepting the compliment gracefully as would be expected. "I thank you, Mademoiselle. As for meeting with old acquaintances--" He trailed off, smirking again, and ran a hand through his hair as he leaned back in his chair, his eyes locked onto hers suggestively. "I cannot shake the feeling that that is what you are. Your first name, Constanza. Did you ever go by anything else? A nickname, perhaps? I am sure that we must have known each other well, or I may have forgotten your face." Fat chance. A face like that, he could never forget.
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Post by Constanza Deville on Aug 7, 2009 14:37:13 GMT -5
Stanza merely looked at him curiously as he trailed off though inwardly she was questioning why he would. ‘Don’t read to much into stuff, that will only get you paranoid and god knows what will happen then!’ Still, she get to where she was now by brushing off small details. Like that smirk! She had mixed feelings about it. One side was analyzing while the other wanted to smirk back. And the way he messed up his hair by running his hand through it, and the way he looked as he slouched back in his chair, and those green eyes. She had supposed the dark had leant a hand to the sort of roguish look he had the other day, but in the light she could see all the tousled glory was him. A smile unconsciously spread on her lips.
‘Focus!’ she yelled at herself. She must be developing a second personality! Stanza hadn’t heard a word until he said the name of her alias. “Nickname? Didn’t all of us have several of them?” She-devil was one of them, “And that was such a long time ago! I couldn’t possibly remember them.” Cleaver for chopping hair and being close to Cheever, and the more common one Banshee for her lovely personality. All of these we’re said behind her back of coarse, to say it to her face would be asking for a beating.
Of coarse they had known each other! She had remembered his name didn’t she? Wait! She had remembered his name and the other boys, but she couldn’t remember what she was called? Hopefully he wouldn’t notice that little slip up, with her luck she doubted it though. She’d have to right down a list of lies she was coming up with to keep things straight. “No, I don’t think we really did know each other,” She knew him well enough from rivalry against his brother, “You see I tended to keep to myself back then. I was very shy.” Ha! Her shy? That was the biggest lie of the century.
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Post by Armand Faure on Aug 7, 2009 16:42:38 GMT -5
He watched her carefully, yet detected no immediate and obvious signs of increased stress; so either he was getting rusty, she was a practised and excellent liar, or she was telling the truth. He tended to think the worst of people, so the latter was to him the most doubtful, and his pride pressed him to exclude the idea that his powers of detection were waning. Plus, though he would not admit it, his old self still contained some great respect for a truly talented liar and he could not help but allow his darker side to lend her that less than positive--well, in some perspectives--aspect.
"Shy. Forgive me, Mademoiselle, but I cannot imagine that. What brought about the change?" He asked, narrowing his eyes at her slightly. Something familiar... he had decided that it was the glint, definitely the glint. It was the intelligence in her face, the cunning, the dangerous look about her that beckoned a challenge. A thought suddenly struck him. "Do you remember Anais Cheever?" He asked, quite innocently. He, perhaps stupidly, had not the slightest notion that he was talking to that very person.
"I--" He corrected himself, quickly, "I recall, Armand had been an obsessive rival. I sometimes reflect now that he might have, in his own way, been in love with her. He spent so much time and effort on her; more than anyone else, with few exceptions--" one exception: the Phantom of the Opera, "--in his entire life."
Guilt suddenly overcame his face, and he sat up straight in his chair again, his expression severe. "I suppose, since you were shy--he must have terrorised you. He, Anais--surely both would have given you hell for your beauty. He liked to pick on pretty girls, and it was always my idea that Anais terrorised the pretty girls in jealousy."
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Post by Constanza Deville on Aug 7, 2009 19:25:26 GMT -5
Yes, it would be hard to imagine her as being shy, she wasn’t even sure if she had ever acted shy before. Luckily that didn’t matter since she had put that as a past trait of hers. “The want to change.” she said vaguely with an innocent smile. It was an appropriate enough answer and she didn’t have to miss a blink to think up a story and decide on which one. He had narrowed his eyes at her and her foot ticked a little under the table. But she stayed calm, even he knew for a fact that she hadn’t been shy, which he kind of did, it wasn’t that much of a detail to worry about. Stanza hadn’t given him a reason to distrust what she said, that he knew of.
Stanza had excepted that he might ask her to explain her answer, which her mind was running through things to say, or something other then what he did say. The hair on her neck rose again and the tick tuned into a foot-shaking and she had to cross her ankles so it wouldn’t show. Yep, he knew. Why else would he suddenly mention her. ‘Stay calm! You can work your way out of this. You could take him, and maybe two other officers…and I have help just across the street…maybe’ Her mind started reeling again and she couldn’t hide the surprise at the mention of her name. Just when she was starting to get comfortable with her character. Her muscles tensed as she waited for him for him to do some mocking or whatever speech ultimately revealing who she was, and she calculated how she could escape in this contraption they call a dress.
Instead he continued on about his brother. Stanza’s nerves were shot, and it hadn’t even been twenty minutes. She leaned back against her chair and let out the breath she had been holding slowly trying once again to calm herself down. “I sometimes reflect now that he might have, in his own way, been in love with her.” Did she hear that right? Certainly not! True her and Armand had butted head nearly everyday, but it wasn’t because it was the odd way boys teases the girls they like. That was petty stuff! It was much more extreme then that! They walked away from their fights with bruises, whelps, ripped clothes, covered in dirt, with a little blood mixed in sometimes. Sure he picked on her more than the other boys did but like he said, it was because Armand had been an obsessive rival, and a bit stupid. She wasn’t sure whether to laugh out loud at the absurdity or be shocked. Confusion was what showed on her face.
Stanza hadn’t even noticed his change until she broke out of her disbelieved state. She could see the guilt on his face which made her more confused, had she missed something? “He, Anais--surely both would have given you hell for your beauty.” Her eyebrows flew up and the amused smirk was about to form on her lips again, that was until he said another absurdity. Her jealous of them? Never! “I wa…!” she was about to correct him rather defensively before catching herself, “…wouldn’t know if that was the reason why. But I was picked on a lot for being shy. I never did anything though to bring Anais‘ wrath on me. ” Her hands clenched as she held herself back from defending herself and blowing her cover. She didn’t terrorize those girls because she was jealous. She did it because they were silly girls who deserved whatever she did to them.
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Post by Armand Faure on Aug 8, 2009 19:01:17 GMT -5
A whole mêlée of emotions ran rampant, flickering too quickly there and away for him to understand, across her face. He could not rightly say what those emotive flickers were, let alone what they were responses to. Usually his own perceptiveness of the emotions and thoughts of others--by way of reading faces--made finding the truth sickeningly easy. Lately, however, he had been encountering persons of such immense skill of evasion that he was left floundering for a little fact here or there. Finally, one emotion, strong enough to be clearly read: indignation.
He nearly laughed. She was comical, this beautiful woman with slightly flared nostrils, muscles tensed, a sleek and dark wildcat ready to pounce and force submission. It was then that he realised, and the shock of the revelation confounded him. He suddenly had to reconcile the thought of boyish, fiendish Anais Cheever, the rival of his boyhood, to this stunningly beautiful and fierce woman to whom he was exceptionally attracted. The connection really could not compute.
And either way, she thought that he was Louis Faure. So should he arrest her? Her being her, it was no longer a question of whether or not she was a criminal, but whether he was enough of an honest man to put her away. Armand was not by nature an honest man. A slow smile crept to his lips.
All that he said was, "I see."
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Post by Constanza Deville on Aug 9, 2009 0:04:11 GMT -5
Skipping town sound like a very good idea at the moment. ‘Well you’ve earned the rank of an idiot Anais!’ She hesitantly smiled back. This is what you get for continuing to deal with someone that knew to much about you before you literally ran into him. Seriously, when had her intellect left and where could she find it? She knew where it was, in the underground passageways…where her love of danger and damnable hormones threw it out. This moment right now was an insult to all her years of be a cunning and respected thief. She had lost her touch. Her hands now clenched in anger at herself and childish blame on Faure and the Phantom she had been so wrapped up in finding the past weeks.
This evening would be a test then. Stanza wasn’t sure though if she’d be able to survive the evening now fore she knew that look he had. It was a very familiar one to her, one she often wore. He knew something. She wasn’t about to make an assumption again, she had thrown the emotions of panic, irritation, and who knows what else in her last episode. ‘You already know what to do if things go array, so just wait for it to before you lose it.’ If only she knew that it already had.
Keeping a pleasant face on the entire time she argued and lectured herself was thankfully something she was able to accomplish this time. ‘Keep in character no more how useless it seems now!’ Tilting her head to the side and relaxing her hands she posed the question, “Whatever happened to your brother?” It was a question she genuinely wanted an answer to. “If I remember correctly you two though different…were close. Don’t tell me he’s in the same field of work?” She asked with a bit of a joking smile. There was no way on God’s green earth that she would believe Armand was an Inspector.
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Post by Armand Faure on Aug 9, 2009 3:04:31 GMT -5
Her face was entirely closed--damn. With perfect, measured tone, she inquired after his brother, and he tensed. Intense pain wrapped itself around his heart like a snug, familiar vice and tightened. Even though she was technically talking about Armand, it was Louis who was his brother, and Louis was dead. Louis was dead... Louis was dead. No amount of knowing would ever bring acceptance of that fact. Louis, the other half of his being, the good half, was entirely gone. It hurt. It hurt like hell..
After a long pause, in which his expression steadily darkened and his gaze seemed to become more and more unfocused, he stated simply: "My brother is dead. He married a nice young woman, settled down, had a son. He and his wife perished in the Populaire Disaster. His son, Lucien--he is in my care. He act just like--" he had to stop himself, reword it, "just like Armand."
There. He had told her nothing but the truth. He didn't notice that his fists were clenched, a dark look on his face that meant nothing but a lust for revenge. Louis, bless his soul, had never borne that expression, but it was a natural face to Armand. As a child, the reasons had been petty; now, he would not rest until the death of his family as avenged.
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Post by Constanza Deville on Sept 12, 2009 17:32:53 GMT -5
What fate could have befallen the other Faure brother? She had thought that at some point or another she would have met him on the street, like some of the other runaway or throw outs of the orphanage. Not many them ever make off the street. Stanza, though not sleeping on the street, hadn’t really made it off yet. Remembering back Louis had always seemed the good stable boy among the ruffians. Maybe he had steered Armand onto “the right path”. The thought made her smirk. With Stanza’s experiences people don’t change much if at all from how they were as adolescents. She had thought that Armand had the makings of a thief. And once a thief always a thief.
The smirk faded when she noticed the dark sullen expression that had appeared on his face. Was he really bad off or something? Oh! That fate huh? That’s unexpected, his life and death. She felt bad now for all her assuming of him being a failure like her. Noticing his clenched fists and nearly sinister look, something that would have made her suspicious, because of what she remembered of Louis temperament, if it had been another subject. She could tell he was in pain about it. “I’m sorry for your loss” was so generic, impersonal, and half hearted and so she said nothing. Stanza couldn’t relate to how he must feel. Her mother died at birth, her father in the same month, and supposedly she had had a few siblings, but all died before she was born. So even though her whole family was dead she didn’t know them enough if at all to mourn them.
“A handful huh?” She finally said, referring to the comment about the child. She said it with a small sympathetic smile, trying to lighten the mood. She hated heavy atmospheres and he probably wanted to get off the subject also. Hopefully she’d be able to redirect it something less somber.
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Post by Armand Faure on Sept 17, 2009 12:50:22 GMT -5
Armand sighed and unclenched his fists, pouring thoughts of calm through his head and trying to get them to register in his body. He was still a little tense, thinking about that night. He had been up in the flies above the stage. It was Piangi's cue, and the stagehands were going to make sure the set curtain got pulled back behind him when he entered. Yet no Piangi came. Approaching Daae was an unfamiliar man -- a monster, as everyone would soon be finding out. He had a beautiful voice. Everyone was stunned into inaction with the shock of that voice, including him. When the face was revealed, he remembered the congealing horror in his veins, the collective gasp of the audience, and then the plunging of the chandelier. His view had been blocked until the final, sickening crash of the giant, sparkling instrument of death. He had known by some strange stroke of pain that his twin had left the earth... that he was alone... severed.
The violent memory having run its course, he let an immense hatred for the Phantom race through him, and then, as usual, the onset of quiet, cold purpose settled his heart back to a normal pace and his face calmed into passivity. He managed a small smile at the comment, though it was quite past time for him to do so. Several moments had passed since its asking.
"An arm full, rather. And he is... so intelligent. It's like he has Louis' brain, his mothers' voice, and my disposition for evil deeds." He stared off into space, a small loving smile on his face. For all of the trouble that Lucien was, Armand held a very deep and genuine affection for the boy. Lost in his intense swirl of emotions -- longing for revenge, hatred, loss, and his love of his nephew -- he didn't even realize that he had just completely skewed his pretense of being his twin.
"He has been taken on as an apprentice in the rebuilt Populaire," he said with more than just a hint of pride. "Though I can't imagine why he would want anything to do with the place where his parents died, and where..." He stopped himself. The Phantom. He was absolutely certain, with every scrap of his torn and tattered being, that the Phantom was alive and well and haunting the Populaire once more.
"So what do you do, Mademoiselle? For a living, I mean? You said that you are not married," He asked, all politeness, eager to change the subject.
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Post by Constanza Deville on Sept 24, 2009 21:35:56 GMT -5
A storm seemed to be surrounding him and he looked almost dangerous. It was actually a look that was familiar to her. She had never had such a dark expression, but some of her comrades had. It wasn’t an expression of just grief but there was hatred behind it. There was more to the story of his brothers death, what is ever it was she wasn’t going to push it. She shifted uncomfortably as he started to calm down and waited patiently until he’d answer. Stanza had started to drift into her own thoughts when he finally did.
She had on one of those kind but awkward smiles until he referred to himself in the third person, and then…wait? For a moment she was utterly confused. Louis’ brain…my disposition for evil deeds….? As he stared off her mouth fell opened shocked. He was Armand not Louis! He introduced himself as his brother? What in the world? Then she remembered what she had said when they first bumped into each other. Was he pretending to be his brother because she had called him a devil child? That made her smirk a little. It seemed he didn’t even notice that he messed up either. So this was really what had happened to her rival. Ended up with a job that contradicted himself and saddled with a child that was as much trouble as he had been. Poor Louis though.
Hiding her cross between amusement and astonishment she tried to focus as he continued speaking. However now when she looked at him it seemed like she was looking at a completely different person. “Maybe he doesn’t see it that way. His mother sang? Maybe he sees it as being closer to her or paying respect?” She said shrugged. Stanza was kind of interested in meeting that nephew of his now. Lo…Armand changed the subject to her and she had to take a break from her musings. “No I’m not, I earn my way of living,” just not in the way of what she was going to say, “Whatever I find; maid, governess, etcetera.” She had never cleaned a house or taken care of children in her life, but those were common enough jobs for a woman.
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Post by Armand Faure on Oct 14, 2009 13:13:39 GMT -5
Armand focused on her keenly, pushing away the last curling tendril of rage in his breast. He had bigger fish to fry right now -- he couldn't sit wallowing in his own bitterness. As he thought it, his eyes drifted to her neckline. Tearing them away with much effort, he directed his bright green (and slightly unfocused) eyes upon her face as she spoke.
It actually took him a few seconds to react. He had to go over what she had just said in his mind, expelling all thoughts of what her hair luscious dark hair might smell like, the amused little tilt of a smile on her red lips, her unfairly appealing décolletage... he cleared his throat, ripping his eyes back up to hers again in order to attempt a coherent answer.
"A governess and a maid? So you received an education?" Oops. Perhaps that wasn't as graceful as it should have been. He couldn't imagine an educated woman, who could qualify for work as a governess, stooping later to the position of maid. Then again, he couldn't imagine Anais Cheever having honest work. Then again, there was a time when he had been unable to imagine her making his head feel light and fuzzy.
"Eeeuh... forgive me. That did not sound the way I had intended it to. I ask in all civility. It is just such a rare gift for an orphan of our caliber to receive a proper education." He leaned back, unable to hold his eyes on her face. It actually had about the same effect as when he gazed at other parts of her for too long. Instead he watched an old man in the corner grumbling over a paper, hoping to sober himself.
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