“And what do you expect me to gain from attending this dinner of yours, were I to?” Phineas asked, because if there was no objective other than socialising and merriment, he would rather feign illness, he thought. He was being intransigent for the mere sake of it, probably, because he was only half-paying attention to the conversation (– argument? –), and half-pretending to read his book.
He was not actually paying attention to the book, because he was too busy grimacing in distaste at how quickly she had polished off that wine. He sorely hoped she would not have another. He despised the propensity for overindulgence merely because it was a holiday.
(And he presumed the more glasses she drank, the less quiet she would be.)
He was not actually paying attention to the book, because he was too busy grimacing in distaste at how quickly she had polished off that wine. He sorely hoped she would not have another. He despised the propensity for overindulgence merely because it was a holiday.
(And he presumed the more glasses she drank, the less quiet she would be.)
