[ Then hopefully she doesn't mind Martin staring a little. He feels like he's looking at someone out of a film, or some detailed reenactment, or - something. Certainly every detail of her dress and manner seems to be an unreal level of perfect.
And yet ... is she staring at him a little? At what? He's not sure any of his features deserve that kind of attention. (Though he probably does look very odd to her, with that mess of dim copper curls and dusting of orange freckles.) He stares at the plate for a moment, struggling to respond without looking overwhelmed; he doesn't quite manage it. ]
What - what d'you reckon is in the tea?
[ He takes one of the little confections - some kind of petit four, or similar, which he turns in his hands. ]
no subject
And yet ... is she staring at him a little? At what? He's not sure any of his features deserve that kind of attention. (Though he probably does look very odd to her, with that mess of dim copper curls and dusting of orange freckles.) He stares at the plate for a moment, struggling to respond without looking overwhelmed; he doesn't quite manage it. ]
What - what d'you reckon is in the tea?
[ He takes one of the little confections - some kind of petit four, or similar, which he turns in his hands. ]