[Horatio stares at the wall of the spare room-- which Mister Wellard would be more than welcome to, were he ever to return, but which also would be opened to anyone who might need one, should Archie or he feel it appropriate to offer-- with something akin to growing horror.
He stared at the white walls, the coloured wax etched onto them. (Somewhere in the back of his mind, he acknowledged a child's skill which ought to be nurtured, which would give way to the woman's talents, but that part of him was drowned out by the rest.) He had been remiss in watching her, fallen asleep and failed to prevent this from occurring.
It would not do to shout at her. No. No, if anything, that might prompt tears. And if he could not bear to see a grown woman cry, he dared not even imagine what it would be to see a little girl cry.]
You--
[He struggled for the words, and they died several times in his throat before he could manage the stupid question.]
no subject
He stared at the white walls, the coloured wax etched onto them. (Somewhere in the back of his mind, he acknowledged a child's skill which ought to be nurtured, which would give way to the woman's talents, but that part of him was drowned out by the rest.) He had been remiss in watching her, fallen asleep and failed to prevent this from occurring.
It would not do to shout at her. No. No, if anything, that might prompt tears. And if he could not bear to see a grown woman cry, he dared not even imagine what it would be to see a little girl cry.]
You--
[He struggled for the words, and they died several times in his throat before he could manage the stupid question.]
You did what?