He answers her question without answering it, and Anne smiles softly to herself as he settles in beside her, lapsing into an account of what Eliot told him. It's nice to hear him talk; to hear him talk about something the way he talked about sailing again, particularly. More a quiet astonishment here than that radiant thrill, but there is a rare fondness behind it all the same.
Eliot's story doesn't interest her so much as Jack's interest in it, but it is interesting in its own right. The mention of demon servants, especially, which compels her to pull back and look at him with mild disbelief. Jack says he believes Eliot, and she believes Jack — she can't even say it's the most unbelievable thing she's heard of or experienced since coming to this place. But it's still a sharp adjustment.
She matches his smile, however, at the mention of the cake. "Knew he would," she says with all confidence, and nudges Jack companionably before her curiosity regains control. "Sorry, when he said demon servants—the fuck does that mean?"
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Eliot's story doesn't interest her so much as Jack's interest in it, but it is interesting in its own right. The mention of demon servants, especially, which compels her to pull back and look at him with mild disbelief. Jack says he believes Eliot, and she believes Jack — she can't even say it's the most unbelievable thing she's heard of or experienced since coming to this place. But it's still a sharp adjustment.
She matches his smile, however, at the mention of the cake. "Knew he would," she says with all confidence, and nudges Jack companionably before her curiosity regains control. "Sorry, when he said demon servants—the fuck does that mean?"