[ Ortus is very near to reluctant to let her pull away even that much. He shares in the common Ninth discomfort with such closeness as this, but he has not felt it here. Only gratitude still, overflowing, and so it is that when she does look at him it is still plain as if stamped upon his features.

Even the mention of Sensei Lawrence cannot dim it, though Ortus does his best to affect more suffering at his name. He understands, dimly, that there is a role to be played.

(He remembers. Brothers jostling each other with sharp elbows, sisters wrestling in the halls, the hushed but fearsome arguments over trivialities. All the things the last children of the Ninth grew in want of, while he retreated inward, but no more.) ]

I have found him bearable, if, at times, perhaps over familiar, and crude, and possessed of many unusual habits of both deportment and demeanor, to say nothing of his diet.

[ He brings a hand to her shoulder and squeezes it, firmly. Perhaps too much so, in overcompensation. ]

He came to transport us from the house, and of great help to myself, and to Lady Harrowhark, and all others he has taken in. I forgive much in the name of my gratitude.

He missed you, too.