Date: 2006-01-14 07:51 am (UTC)
"Italia," Sloane returns fondly, answering her Shakespeare with a Byron quote, "and its fatal gift of beauty. I love the language, that soft bastard Latin/ Which melts like kisss from a female mouth/And sounds as if it should be writ on satin/ With syllables which breathe of the sweet south/ And gentle liquids gliding all so pat in/ That not a single accent seems uncouth/ Like our harsh northern whistling, grunting guttural/ Which we're obliged to hiss, and spit, and sputter all."

"But," he adds, tone subtle changing, "I have not the slightest doubt that your thesis is excellent. You don't strike me as a woman who'd allow anything poor to cling to her name. Which, of couse, my dear Ms. Morgan, is why we're here."

The waiter approaches once more and asks him whether they're ready to order, and this time Sloane doesn't ask Lilah for her opinion; he orders ravioli filled with shrimp mousse and shitake mushroom sauce for her. Which, if Orris has kept up its standard, should be delicious, but it's also a very minor power play.

"Idleness is all very pleasant once in a while, but after a year or two, it must be dreadfully boring," Sloane continues. "For an intelligent woman such as yourself."

Which is his way of telling her he's aware that whatever her connection to Wolfram and Hart is right now, it can't be something comparable to her previous position.
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