"Do they?" he wondered aloud. "Well, sure, on the outside, but if you repent..." He trailed off as she began to walk, falling into step beside her.

Fucking fuck!

He couldn't even relief his embarrassment—nor his discomfort—through exaggeration. Any extraneous movement and he might not have been able to walk at all. His leg was so sore he hobbled in a tight, controlled fashion, concentrating absurdly on the promise of coffee to motivate him onwards.

"From Henrietta," he replied, through somewhat clenched teeth. "Small town, in Southern USA. There's Aglionby Academy... lots of private school boys." Figuring he'd said enough, he tossed the conversation back in her court. "What... what about you?"