sufficiently well enough for us to be able to take you out in public without being utterly and completely embarrassed, so much that we must slink off and marinate in our misery."
"That might take a while."
Tom exploded with an expletive that we shall not transcribe here, for fear of having our more delicate readers shocked (and indeed, those readers on the wharfs might be suitably offended, as well). "-it, James! How many times have I bloody well told you to stuff it up your arse and let me speak for five moments?"
James shrugged, and they turned back to Bit. She obviously wasn’t listening very much, and instead was munching on a piece of bread. Tom groaned. "Bit, have you been listening for the last five minutes?"
"Huh. Some?" She swallowed a last bite of bread, and continued. "I mean, I was listenin’ in the begin’ but then I guess it weren’t interesting any more. So I stopp’ listenin’."
"I see."
"Tha’s good."
"So."
"Huh."
They sat in silence for a moment, Tom regarding Bit with an expression of unconstrained amazement. That anyone could be so ingenious, so dumb, and so politely rude all at one moment - it flabbergasted him to no end. He finally sighed and continued on his (vaguely hopeless) crusade for justice and class equality - well, no. His crusade for dear Jane’s attention. Tom’s reasons for taking on Bit had very little to do with educating her for class equality and justice and silly, liberal things like that.
The things he did for the woman he adored.
"Anyway, Bit. Ignore what happened, what I just said-"
"Done."
"Yes, good. Alright. So we’re going to play a game." Bit regarded him with the rather flat sort of expression that people got when they were totally uninterested and thoroughly skeptical about any and everything any given person was going to say. It was an unencouraging sort of expression, but Tom gamely forged on despite the near insurmountable odds stacked against him. "A game. Doesn't that sound like fun? So, here's the game. It's going to make you into a good, smart, well-mannered lady. Every time you do something that is conductive to such good behavior - you know, your tutor informs us you had a good lesson or finished a book, or you behave well during dinner, or you keep a pair of shoes for more than two weeks - any time something like that happens you get a shilling to keep! Isn't that a great game? Of course, if
"That might take a while."
Tom exploded with an expletive that we shall not transcribe here, for fear of having our more delicate readers shocked (and indeed, those readers on the wharfs might be suitably offended, as well). "-it, James! How many times have I bloody well told you to stuff it up your arse and let me speak for five moments?"
James shrugged, and they turned back to Bit. She obviously wasn’t listening very much, and instead was munching on a piece of bread. Tom groaned. "Bit, have you been listening for the last five minutes?"
"Huh. Some?" She swallowed a last bite of bread, and continued. "I mean, I was listenin’ in the begin’ but then I guess it weren’t interesting any more. So I stopp’ listenin’."
"I see."
"Tha’s good."
"So."
"Huh."
They sat in silence for a moment, Tom regarding Bit with an expression of unconstrained amazement. That anyone could be so ingenious, so dumb, and so politely rude all at one moment - it flabbergasted him to no end. He finally sighed and continued on his (vaguely hopeless) crusade for justice and class equality - well, no. His crusade for dear Jane’s attention. Tom’s reasons for taking on Bit had very little to do with educating her for class equality and justice and silly, liberal things like that.
The things he did for the woman he adored.
"Anyway, Bit. Ignore what happened, what I just said-"
"Done."
"Yes, good. Alright. So we’re going to play a game." Bit regarded him with the rather flat sort of expression that people got when they were totally uninterested and thoroughly skeptical about any and everything any given person was going to say. It was an unencouraging sort of expression, but Tom gamely forged on despite the near insurmountable odds stacked against him. "A game. Doesn't that sound like fun? So, here's the game. It's going to make you into a good, smart, well-mannered lady. Every time you do something that is conductive to such good behavior - you know, your tutor informs us you had a good lesson or finished a book, or you behave well during dinner, or you keep a pair of shoes for more than two weeks - any time something like that happens you get a shilling to keep! Isn't that a great game? Of course, if
