Barnaby merely shrugged at the revelation about the Portuguese – or the English, as it be. He did not understand to any great extent, but he did not question it. He had missed a few literary developments since his living days, so perhaps by this era all the good titles had been taken, and Sonnets from the English was trite and overdone.
Or perhaps this was merely meant to signify that these poems were more exotic love poems. Barnaby could not say he would mind this, but he was loath to agree to something without being quite certain what he would have to endure. Greengrass was a trustworthy fellow, in general, when it came to possessing tact and taste, but he was nevertheless not sure how well their opinions of love poetry would overlap.
He leant back until he was suspended nearly horizontally in the air, tucking his hands up behind his head to better listen to something of this sort. “You may read me one, for now,” he declared, with a lazy jerk of his chin to say he would thenceforth judge its quality. “Your favourite, if you know them well enough to say.”
Or perhaps this was merely meant to signify that these poems were more exotic love poems. Barnaby could not say he would mind this, but he was loath to agree to something without being quite certain what he would have to endure. Greengrass was a trustworthy fellow, in general, when it came to possessing tact and taste, but he was nevertheless not sure how well their opinions of love poetry would overlap.
He leant back until he was suspended nearly horizontally in the air, tucking his hands up behind his head to better listen to something of this sort. “You may read me one, for now,” he declared, with a lazy jerk of his chin to say he would thenceforth judge its quality. “Your favourite, if you know them well enough to say.”
