[He's a good heart. We need more people here who have good hearts. Byerly had spoke highly of Prior, and Dorian had been eager to meet the young man since then. After he'd recover from the hangover, he thought first. After work, he'd thought second. But work hadn't allowed time for play, and the afternoon he'd finally started for their residence was the afternoon they were evacuated.

Then there was the whole business of sleeping for an entire three days that followed, and the ordeal made it hard to be eager for much of anything. He's nursing a bottle of grappa the day he encounters Prior, loitering about the West End in hopes of some restoration of his spirits. It would work eventually, no doubt, but it was just so agonizingly slow without stimulating conversation that he can't help but speak up to anyone without thought. All that time wasted thinking he'd needed to look presentable for such a similar stranger, and here he is.]

Are there set showtimes for- Ah, pardon. [He has to cut himself off before he can go on to inquire as something as basic as scheduling to the other man, seeing as he doesn't quite look the part he'd assumed he'd find.] I nearly took you for one of the dancers. You strike that kind figure out of the corner of one's eye, you know.