Noble huffed out a breath. He wished he cared less than he did — then he could have accomplished his secret dream, of taking Clem to live somewhere in South Bartonburg where he could do potions and she could do activism and they could both be some sort of happy.

"You don't get charged for the bouquets," Noble broke in, suddenly, a thought that was seemingly disconnected from the rest of it. "The ones for Jemima."

A guess, but — well. He would have bet anything he was right.