[She hums, eyebrows arching, but offers no argument or support fornhis supposition as he moves to speak to his man. Instead she pours herself a second cup of tea, fixing it how she likes with a small clink of the silver spoon against the edge of the cup. If she listens hard she can hear most of what he and his man say, but she doesn't - listen hard. Rather she settles in the parlor and lets herself be comfortable. She sips from her cup and is-- pleased with herself.
The tap to her knee isn't a surprise. She lifts her face to him, lowering her cup and saucer back into her lap.] Imagine that. In the mean time, I don't suppose you've something a little more formidable than tea on hand?
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The tap to her knee isn't a surprise. She lifts her face to him, lowering her cup and saucer back into her lap.] Imagine that. In the mean time, I don't suppose you've something a little more formidable than tea on hand?