Can be read on AO3.
“No, thank you.”
“Oh, come on, Thom, you must go out with me tonight. We’ll take a light supper somewhere or other and then go on to the Quail Club, it shall be great fun.” The speaker of this second sentiment, Robert Mount, had such an imploring look on his face that one might more rightly expect it from someone asking to borrow money, rather than requesting the pleasure of a friend’s company.
“How many times must I tell you, Rob, that I do not like the Quail as you do?” said Thomas Bridgetower, the beseeched, with the air of someone reciting a well-memorized line. “They talk endlessly of hunting and women - in terms far too similar for my liking -, I don’t care to gamble, and you know very well that all of the cigar smoke makes my throat burn.”
“You never complain when I smoke.”
“I do so complain, you’ve simply learned to ignore me.”
“So I have,” said Rob with a smile, leaning and putting out his cigar in the porcelain ashtray on the tea table in front of him. ( Read more... )