If she kept her metaphorical hands to herself, they might not be able to achieve the same effect, Samuel thought. So he would like to dissuade Themis from that sentiment. But now was not the moment for that. More time needed to pass for him to recapitulate and compare this evening to his first try at the matter, which had gone so wrong. Maybe then he would find out what it was that she did that had made this work.
He said nothing and watched her disappear into his dressing room. There was an absurdity to that; his life transpired outside of these rooms. He shut it out and kept everything that was disorderly and perplexing and unpalatable about what he did and who he was on the other side, so that he might have a respite. Where most he did was sleep and get up and get dressed and get undressed, wash and shave and all that it took to be a person out there and to unbecome that person when the day was over and done with. He leaned back into the armchair and felt that while he was unsettled, he was also strangely fine with her walking around between his clothes and belongings in there. But why was she laughing? He did not remember keeping around anything particularly amusing.
Samuel decided to drink some of the wine instead of pondering that question and waited, looking out the window. Night approached over the castle grounds. Themis returned wearing something different, a gown of hers that she must have gotten down here by some way of magic. He curtailed in his mind any sort of dwelling on her looks and just smiled at her and got up.
"I will be right back," he said to her. In his dressing room, he took off his waistcoat and the soaked shirt and cleaned himself up at the wash table in the corner. He was tired, but this tiredness was not in his face, which he saw faintly in the dark mirror, or from his mind. It came from deep inside his body. This particular feeling he knew, but had not felt in a very long time.
Yet, when the crisp fabric of a fresh shirt settled on his skin, it reinstated a sense of civility and decorum that had been lost to all the chaos. Sparing himself from putting on a waistcoat and jacket, he returned.
He sat down at the table. The house-elf had set it expertly. She had even summoned a tablecloth. Suddenly, a sense of formality crept up on Samuel and that he found funny.
"It seems that normalcy is reasserting itself. We can pretend like nothing happened," he said to Themis and picked up his fork.
He said nothing and watched her disappear into his dressing room. There was an absurdity to that; his life transpired outside of these rooms. He shut it out and kept everything that was disorderly and perplexing and unpalatable about what he did and who he was on the other side, so that he might have a respite. Where most he did was sleep and get up and get dressed and get undressed, wash and shave and all that it took to be a person out there and to unbecome that person when the day was over and done with. He leaned back into the armchair and felt that while he was unsettled, he was also strangely fine with her walking around between his clothes and belongings in there. But why was she laughing? He did not remember keeping around anything particularly amusing.
Samuel decided to drink some of the wine instead of pondering that question and waited, looking out the window. Night approached over the castle grounds. Themis returned wearing something different, a gown of hers that she must have gotten down here by some way of magic. He curtailed in his mind any sort of dwelling on her looks and just smiled at her and got up.
"I will be right back," he said to her. In his dressing room, he took off his waistcoat and the soaked shirt and cleaned himself up at the wash table in the corner. He was tired, but this tiredness was not in his face, which he saw faintly in the dark mirror, or from his mind. It came from deep inside his body. This particular feeling he knew, but had not felt in a very long time.
Yet, when the crisp fabric of a fresh shirt settled on his skin, it reinstated a sense of civility and decorum that had been lost to all the chaos. Sparing himself from putting on a waistcoat and jacket, he returned.
He sat down at the table. The house-elf had set it expertly. She had even summoned a tablecloth. Suddenly, a sense of formality crept up on Samuel and that he found funny.
"It seems that normalcy is reasserting itself. We can pretend like nothing happened," he said to Themis and picked up his fork.
