The moment of anticipation turned into relief. Beneath that was worry that her acceptance came wrapped up with something else.
Surprised about her quip, Samuel returned: "My mother would tell you that me making proposals is already a decade past due." Normally he would have appreciated this foray into flirtatiousness; after all, he was known to flirt. Even said mother, ostracized as she was from his kind that was not hers, was aware of it by way of gossip. Yet, nothing even resembling a courtship had ever come from it. People therefore wondered what was wrong with him, Mrs. Dolores Griffith worried, and he, who knew what was the matter with him, was only unsettled that this comment had come from Themis. He did not believe that she meant it entirely suggestively; she was perhaps getting at something else: he was being fast and forward with all of this.
Samuel knew that he was walking a thin line in asking her to be alone and so close with him, again and on a continuum. He did not know what was in Themis Lyra's past that made her as she was right now; he could perhaps not read as accurately into other people as she could, but he had an instinctive hold on their depths and recesses of feeling—where they were vulnerable and where they had hardened themselves. He was certain that not only had she hardened herself to the world and men especially in a quite complete fashion; if she would get the impression that he was taking liberties, using their agreement for ulterior motives and to ensnare her affections, she would unceremoniously throw him out of her life. There would then be no coming back from that. Duplicitous and strategic behavior would not be tolerated, and Samuel had in his life at times been guilty of it—although he had no intentions for it now. He was truthful of his estimation that she might hold the key to push across the boundaries he had been stuck behind. He did want this—it was no game to him. He had to believe himself about this, or this was doomed. All that was required of him was to hold his own reins tightly in his hands and to not allow himself to misstep; he thought himself capable of this.
So, because he knew that she would get wise to what had transpired in his head otherwise, he severed all of the emotions his thoughts had awoken, and threw them into the murky waters inside of him; where only the gods knew what lay decaying in the depths.
Returning to an equilibrium of feeling, he looked at her and said calmly: "I am serious and willing. And I am confident in my estimation; it is no idle flattery. We will see in time where it will lead us. And if this synthesis of knowledge may turn out to be the missing piece."
He moved to refill their glasses, which had the added effect of her hand falling away naturally. He thought it better that way, considering his decisions to behave very conscientiously.
Surprised about her quip, Samuel returned: "My mother would tell you that me making proposals is already a decade past due." Normally he would have appreciated this foray into flirtatiousness; after all, he was known to flirt. Even said mother, ostracized as she was from his kind that was not hers, was aware of it by way of gossip. Yet, nothing even resembling a courtship had ever come from it. People therefore wondered what was wrong with him, Mrs. Dolores Griffith worried, and he, who knew what was the matter with him, was only unsettled that this comment had come from Themis. He did not believe that she meant it entirely suggestively; she was perhaps getting at something else: he was being fast and forward with all of this.
Samuel knew that he was walking a thin line in asking her to be alone and so close with him, again and on a continuum. He did not know what was in Themis Lyra's past that made her as she was right now; he could perhaps not read as accurately into other people as she could, but he had an instinctive hold on their depths and recesses of feeling—where they were vulnerable and where they had hardened themselves. He was certain that not only had she hardened herself to the world and men especially in a quite complete fashion; if she would get the impression that he was taking liberties, using their agreement for ulterior motives and to ensnare her affections, she would unceremoniously throw him out of her life. There would then be no coming back from that. Duplicitous and strategic behavior would not be tolerated, and Samuel had in his life at times been guilty of it—although he had no intentions for it now. He was truthful of his estimation that she might hold the key to push across the boundaries he had been stuck behind. He did want this—it was no game to him. He had to believe himself about this, or this was doomed. All that was required of him was to hold his own reins tightly in his hands and to not allow himself to misstep; he thought himself capable of this.
So, because he knew that she would get wise to what had transpired in his head otherwise, he severed all of the emotions his thoughts had awoken, and threw them into the murky waters inside of him; where only the gods knew what lay decaying in the depths.
Returning to an equilibrium of feeling, he looked at her and said calmly: "I am serious and willing. And I am confident in my estimation; it is no idle flattery. We will see in time where it will lead us. And if this synthesis of knowledge may turn out to be the missing piece."
He moved to refill their glasses, which had the added effect of her hand falling away naturally. He thought it better that way, considering his decisions to behave very conscientiously.
