[My, how he sharpens when she reaches out. For a split second, his offhand moves as if to fetch up the cane hooked on the chair's arm—and then instead he takes up and book, thrusting it out to her before she can pass nearer than the very edge of an arm's length.

His face retains that shade of contemptuous good humor however. Whatever trouble afflicts the impulse of his limbs apparently isn't felt so deeply so as to disturb much else about him.]

Oh very sinister indeed. You see I've had nothing but water and tonics to drink since surfacing, and would trade my eye for a decent pot of tea. Maybe even a halfway decent one.