[Goodsir thinks of the hours he'd spent in that cramped little closet below decks, lit by warm lamplight, pointing and gesturing and repeating words over and over. Lady Silence's inscrutable face gradually opening in subtle ways.

Goodsir looks up into Tim's eyes, so kind and dark. He reaches past the distance between them and grips his clasped hands with his own.]

I don't deserve your kindness either, Tim. But by God I am thankful for it.

[He squeezes once and lets go, sitting back with the awkward little laugh he has accidentally perfected, the one that seems to say, 'ah, yes, I'm a terrible embarrassment, apologies!']

I do promise that one day we will have a pleasant conversation where I do not inflict awful stories upon you.