( Skittish like a maid brought white'n'pale to her wedding bed, isn't he? Damned man, damned nuisance. With a forlorn sigh, Mr. Eames takes it upon himself to explain himself thusly, clasp tightening over the young man's knuckles: )
You leave yer hand soft. So I can be steering.
( And steer he does, guiding the man's hand to shift the mop at a finer angle, forcing the gestures slow. Reshaping them, from stabs at the floor into smooth, hypnotically repetitive circles of the figure eight.
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You leave yer hand soft. So I can be steering.
( And steer he does, guiding the man's hand to shift the mop at a finer angle, forcing the gestures slow. Reshaping them, from stabs at the floor into smooth, hypnotically repetitive circles of the figure eight.
Then, Mr. Eames releases him with a step back. )
Now, you.