[Fitcher's 'Thank you' comes easily; she shifts closer to the fledgling light with the papers.]
Other than my friend's romantic poetry?
[She hasn't opened the letters, but maybe Fitcher's friend has told her something of their contents. Maybe this really is the petty vengeance of a spurned wife—I want him to have nothing of me, including all the kind words I ever wrote to him, and so on.]
Trading contracts. Deeds and the will. He'll have copies filed with his solicitor. There's a pretty ring in that little black bag that's too large for me.
[She wiggles a thumb in Silas's direction. Yes, she'd tried it.]
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Date: 2022-03-12 06:37 pm (UTC)Other than my friend's romantic poetry?
[She hasn't opened the letters, but maybe Fitcher's friend has told her something of their contents. Maybe this really is the petty vengeance of a spurned wife—I want him to have nothing of me, including all the kind words I ever wrote to him, and so on.]
Trading contracts. Deeds and the will. He'll have copies filed with his solicitor. There's a pretty ring in that little black bag that's too large for me.
[She wiggles a thumb in Silas's direction. Yes, she'd tried it.]
Nothing scandalous. Mores the pity.