( ...oh. Oh, it's one of them, is it? No doubt, searching herself for opportunity to cross on over. It's how it's done, everyone wants out of the Mouse House, and the depth of Elizabeth's faint scowl thins further, fragile.

Her hands meet and cross over her belly's fill, legs dangling out, cat-like, to graze at the illusion of comfort. )

It's not for everyone. ( To start the lady diplomatically. No sense in peddling to her achievements the average man won't enjoy. ) If you must know, I was training up in letters and law, underground, when my Mr. Fairley found me. He was on assignment, they sent him to help with the censor's toil. He hired me to keep their records, and — I was brought up for my work, of course, but... one thing to another, and... he's a good man, Mr. Fairley.

( In other words, they were wed. ) Of course, some only came with a ring on their finger, or sold themselves off for special skills. Especially fighters and chemists and... young women. I'm certain you know what I'm talking about, but there's no good sense in gracious women having us that chatter.

( ...but there's a twist to her mouth that wishes to suggest, by the by, whores are evil. )