The Lamplight-Letters: Chapter Twenty-three
There’s something peculiar about visiting a friend’s house for the very first time. You’ve known the one, but not the other, until you’re invited over and the two are slapped together like a sandwich. The friend influences your opinion of the house, the house influences your opinion of the friend, and you end up seeing both in a different light than you would have otherwise.
As I stepped out of the car and stood squinting up at Dove Manor, my mind was already busy sticking Clive inside and shuffling around everything I knew about him, as much as I wished it wouldn’t. Of course, I had already known Clive’s family was well-off, but the house before me was quite a bit beyond what I had expected. How to reconcile the shrewd, tireless boy I knew, who seemed to live by wits and close-scrapes alone, with something so imposing, so venerable and grand?
If I was honest, the place was more than that–it was intimidating. Perhaps that was why it reminded me so of Dreycott . . .
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I guess this is a thing I do now... adding reaction gifs to my favourite fics. (All Lord of the Rings related, of course.):
"We'll just have to find you a taller chair, then," Clive said, smiling as he stooped to exchange a gentle embrace with his mother.”
...I stopped a moment to study the portrait. Whoever had painted it was clearly a master. They had managed to capture a faint sadness in Clive's eyes that I thought was there one moment, then only in my imagination the next.
..."Gemma," I began, hesitantly, "Is something...bothering you?" My suspicions were confirmed when I felt the comb stop midway through my hair. "I haven't been taking care of myself," she began, her voice fragile as Constance's hands, "I still have headaches and night–" She paused for a long second, "And dreams."
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...Bernard began scooping more vegetables onto his plate. "She's a doctor. In rural Bangladesh. Specializes in leprosy. Was just nominated for the Nobel Prize, actually.”
The indifference in his voice caused Clive and I to trade concerned glances tinged with surprise. Now we were in territory neither of us had ever dared touch upon.
...The first thing I caught sight of was a short man with a thick gray beard and a very red nose sitting at his desk, shuffling a stack of papers.
"Madame Dove, it has been awhile. I trust you're well?"
"Too long, Dr. Schrader. And we're all doing marvelously. Yourself?"
HE’S HERE.
