[They are the sort of hot fat tears that instantly mortify the person crying them to the point where all other interruptions become more or less negligible. For example, she makes no particular of the mattress dipping under his weight or even really the set of his hand, and she has covered her face with her hand and so it takes her a long beat to clock the handkerchief. Her natural instinct—to reach out an accept it with a nonexistant free hand—send an exhausted ache up her shoulder and prompts a harder, more absurd sob of frustration.
This is all so very stupid and she will never live down being seen like this. Byerly Rutyer will, she is very confident (and hopes very sincerely because it would be good to be justified in something, wouldn't it?), surely crow about this to everyone he is close to. I made her weep, did she tell you that? He will say to Alexandrie. Or maybe he will make fun of her to Bastien, and maybe Bastien will let him do it.
Wysteria takes the handkerchief and clumsily applies it to her face and cries a little more into it, more or less undeterred by either the slow circular motion of the hand at her back or her own attempt to cheer herself up with fantasies of inevitable betrayal.]
It had better be a very good book, [is cried into the handkerchief, followed by a soggy honk which may or may not be a laugh, and then more tears.]
no subject
This is all so very stupid and she will never live down being seen like this. Byerly Rutyer will, she is very confident (and hopes very sincerely because it would be good to be justified in something, wouldn't it?), surely crow about this to everyone he is close to. I made her weep, did she tell you that? He will say to Alexandrie. Or maybe he will make fun of her to Bastien, and maybe Bastien will let him do it.
Wysteria takes the handkerchief and clumsily applies it to her face and cries a little more into it, more or less undeterred by either the slow circular motion of the hand at her back or her own attempt to cheer herself up with fantasies of inevitable betrayal.]
It had better be a very good book, [is cried into the handkerchief, followed by a soggy honk which may or may not be a laugh, and then more tears.]