Wine Is Bottled Poetry, He Thinks.

The Sensation Reminds Him Of The First Snow Of Winter, For Those First Few Hours When Everything Is Blanketed In White, Soft And Quiet.

I Have Absurdly Vivid Dreams.

The Funeral Is A Quiet One, Despite The Number Of Mourners Present. There Are No Sobs Or Flailing Handkerchiefs. There Is A Smattering Of Color Amongst The Sea Of Traditional Black. Even The Light Rain Cannot Push It Down Into The Realms Of Despair. It Rests Instead In A Space Of Thoughtful Melancholy.

Esse Quam Videri," Celia Says. "to Be, Rather Than To Seem.

So Proper For A Circus Girl," Mme. Padva Says With With A Gleam In Her Eye. "we Shall Have To Loosen Those Corset Laces If We Intend To Keep You An Intimate Dinner Company." "i Expected The Corset Unlacing Would Take Place After Dinner," Celia Says Mildly, Earning A Chorus Of Laughter. "we Shall Keep Miss Bowen As Intimate Company Regardless Of The State Of Her Corset," Chandresh Says. "make A Note Of That," He Adds, Waving A Hand At Marco. "miss Bowen's Corset Is Duly Noted, Sir," Marco Replies, And The Laghter Bubbles Over The Table Again.