August wondered if she liked that she had grown up in Britain, or if she regretted it — that was a bit much to ask at a party, so he refrained. But he was curious.

"I often find myself — deeply ingrained in the attempt," August admitted, with a wry smile. "To shake off one's history. It has its weight." And its consequences. His leg was a reminder of when he had been brash, and his son was a reminder of how August could be entranced by the romance of political progressivism — he did not regret anything with Lyra, but they should have handled things very differently.

That was what he was trying to do, in finding a new wife. Handle things differently. Approach things more gracefully, too.