Whether that was pure conversational politeness or any real intention, Callista was delighted by it – she did genuinely think the city would prove interesting to a man like him. He seemed more interested than some people in broadening his horizons; and, to make matters more amusing, he had even humoured her grandmother.
Callista’s smile only dimmed when he asked her what she thought. “Oh, well I grew up more here than there, so I think I have a little more patience for it than she does,” she began, wishing she could leave it there and evade the question. Pendergast’s had taught her a great deal about how to carry herself in society, but sharing honest opinions had never really been on the list. Indeed, she wasn’t sure she knew what she thought. Compared to her brothers or Ìyá or Genia, she had never had the confidence in oneself and her own opinions that an Adebayo should. But she was enjoying getting to know Mr. Echelon-Arnost, so perhaps she owed him the trying.
“But I don’t know. It is difficult, I think – the older they are – for anyone or anywhere to shake off its history.” She was thinking less jokingly of her grandmother here and more seriously of Britain, and the heavy press of its customs, the way it had stretched itself across the world and its identity had grown out of continuous centuries, in comparison to the presumed youthfulness of Germany as a country or the constantly-changing and (somewhat arbitrary) delineations of country in Africa. “Not that I am averse to the attempt.” Some change could be good and necessary. (If she were being entirely truthful, she had always been a little fearful of the future – but she supposed that was more fear for her own path than society’s at large.)
Callista’s smile only dimmed when he asked her what she thought. “Oh, well I grew up more here than there, so I think I have a little more patience for it than she does,” she began, wishing she could leave it there and evade the question. Pendergast’s had taught her a great deal about how to carry herself in society, but sharing honest opinions had never really been on the list. Indeed, she wasn’t sure she knew what she thought. Compared to her brothers or Ìyá or Genia, she had never had the confidence in oneself and her own opinions that an Adebayo should. But she was enjoying getting to know Mr. Echelon-Arnost, so perhaps she owed him the trying.
“But I don’t know. It is difficult, I think – the older they are – for anyone or anywhere to shake off its history.” She was thinking less jokingly of her grandmother here and more seriously of Britain, and the heavy press of its customs, the way it had stretched itself across the world and its identity had grown out of continuous centuries, in comparison to the presumed youthfulness of Germany as a country or the constantly-changing and (somewhat arbitrary) delineations of country in Africa. “Not that I am averse to the attempt.” Some change could be good and necessary. (If she were being entirely truthful, she had always been a little fearful of the future – but she supposed that was more fear for her own path than society’s at large.)
