You're about twenty-odd years late, then. I got rid of that the moment I could.

[She says it to buy herself an extra moment or two of study. It's really very hard to tell with him sometimes, with that blank expression and flat gaze. Rosalind narrows her eyes, not so much worried about whether or not they'll indulge in this as simply eager to know the truth of the matter, one way or another. It's the scientist in her.

She suspects whichever way she guesses, he'll either scoff or insinuate, depending on what might get her to fluster. He's irritating like that. So she shrugs and reaches for her cigarette again, pulling it from her lips.]

But if you want that, Bigby, all you have to do is ask. I'm more than amenable to requests.