[She doesn't decide one way or another, not yet. She does slow as they pass each other, as if noting a directive to allargando; her head falls to one side, and she listens to everything that indicates Marsh in her mind.]
[Then she turns and catches up with him, walking at his side. The look in her eyes is the bastard brother of curiosity: not the desire but the inborn right to pick the wings off flies.]
Where are you going? [she asks, and then, with a sigh,] Where is there for you to go here?
[spam]
[Then she turns and catches up with him, walking at his side. The look in her eyes is the bastard brother of curiosity: not the desire but the inborn right to pick the wings off flies.]
Where are you going? [she asks, and then, with a sigh,] Where is there for you to go here?