There is still the pouch to arrange for; he folds it over and secures the fasten, some leaning up across the fulcrum of his elbow necessary to fit it back down snug into her belt.

“Hmm,” he mulls, as he tucks. This does sound sickeningly youthful. But more importantly from this elevated angle and in the shadow of her hat, he can nearly see down her shirt.

“What kind of furniture?”