[PRP] With Friends Like These... [Dolmar/Cedarian]

[ShinosBee]

Someone once said that stillness of person and steadiness of features are signal marks of good breeding. Dolmar had never heard such a quote, nor had he any knowledge of the man that'd said once, long long ago on a planet none of them had any idea about, but if he had, surely he would have nodded solemnly in agreement.

Of course all young people had moments of spontaneity, of disregard and impulse, but often he'd found that one could simply tell if they knew how to look at another person. Little hints and movements, things he'd been taught to watch for and read as others read the written word, during his time at the Courtesan crafthall. Not to mention the natural refining of features that came with all selective breeding. Were runners not picked and paired for longer legs, or deeper chests, or whatever it was that runnerherds looked for? And the same could be said of canines, and even felines, these last few centuries. It stood to reason then, that the same would hold with people. Admittedly, he'd only pegged perhaps one or two other candidates that might be of any worth in that regard at all, since arriving...

...Until today.

A new candidate had been ushered in to join their throng between lessons in a brief half-mark of rest, and he'd instantly caught Dolmar's olive eye. Equal more or less in height, in bearing, in a taste for fine clothing...the teen felt himself instantly curious and drawn to approach, one slim hand thrust firmly but gracefully out in greeting. "Welcome to Western Weyr," He cocked his head in a preemptive sort of half-nod, half-bow. Nothing expressing too great a level of deference, but certainly polite enough. "I'm Dolmar."

Masterharper

Hope you don't mind my setting up him being like DAY ONE and all. Dolmar's actually SUPER KEEN to meet this fellow and he didn't want me to wait. XD

 

[Masterharper]

ShinosBee

No, no! It's quite all right!

Everything had happened quickly. One moment he'd been brooding at the Harper Hall, and the next minute he'd been swept away adragonback and dropped off most unceremoniously at Western Weyr. While Cedarian certainly wasn't so pompous or arrogant as to expect to be heralded into his new home, the long haired rider had expected a bit more decorum upon his arrival. Instead, the Candidatemaster -- or was it one of their assistants? -- had taken his name and information, given him a brief tour, and then showed him to his cot. He would begin his lessons and chore assignments the next morning; for now, he was to unpack and get acclimated to his new home.

Honestly, Cedarian was overwhelmed. To begin with, he had thought he was going to have a room all his own. Hadn't his older brother, C'rian, had his own room at High Reaches? He'd never seen it, but he'd thought that's what letters had said. Here, in Western, there was no such thing as rooms... just a room. A room with beds lined up in rows, each equipped with a small endtable and chest. How did they expect him to fit all his clothes into a single chest!? And were there no privacy partitions? Did they really expect him to change in front of everyone? Alone in the room, the dark eyed man felt a twinge of homesickness; already Weyrlife was terribly different, and he'd be expected to adjust accordingly.

Unfortunately, if Cedarian had thought he'd time to put his things away without the prying eyes of others, he was mistaken. Classes let out, and it didn't take long for Candidates to come streaming back to the Barracks. The shy young man frowned, his usual judgmental glower firmly upon his sharp features. He wanted to hide, but pride demanded he face them all with confidence. So, instead of shrinking back, he lifted his chin, and purposefully began putting his clothes away. He stole an occasional look at some of the others; men, women, boys, girls, of all sizes, ages, and backgrounds. Quietly he made passing judgments, finding reasons and excuses to keep them at bay. Besides, he was quite sure they were all judging him, anyway.

Hmph.

What surprised him, though, was when one young man actually approached. In fact, Cedarian felt his brows knit, and he glanced down at the proffered hand. What was this? A sign of friendship, of good will, of good nature? Thankfully, Dolmar didn't look like some of the disheveled riff-raff. He seemed quite well dressed, for a Candidate at any rate, and he could appreciate the welcome. So it was, he reached out and shook the others hand, trying his best to hide any surprise or uncertainty. He too, gave a small nod of acknowledgement, though his expression was ever serious. "Salutations," he greeted stiffly, formally. "Cedarian, of Exeter Hold." He had debated whether or not he was going to claim affiliation with the minor Hold or the Harper Hall. But, as he had not yet reached Journeyman, he didn't risk confessing such a low rank. He was the son of a Holder, after all. Though his home had suffered great loss during Thread's return, they were still high reputable for their runners. Why shouldn't he be proud of that fact?

"Forgive me if I'm not at my best. I am still getting my bearings." His eyes looked once more at the open room. Faranth, help him -- he hadn't expected to live in communal quarters. Was there no privacy? He was certain he was being stared at and judged.
 

[ShinosBee]

Just as Cedarian was gauging Dolmar, he was taking measure as well. The length of time it took his handshake to be accepted or rebuffed, the expressions coming and going over his face, the strength of his grip when they finally shook...All of it went into the mental file Dolmar was building about who this young man was. And apparently he rated rather well, because he smile Dolmar managed when his greeting was accepted was genuine, and rare. "Exeter Hold? A Western native, then, as far as the continent goes. A fine hold, for runner stock...it still is, I mean, yes?" He might not know every cothold or minor hold out there, but those with notable exports had been drilled into him over turns. One never knew where important needs might be met, or friendships forged, after all. Of course, who knew how many were gone, post-thread, but that's why he had to ask. At least he had the good grace to tug his face into a look of understanding sympathy when he did so. That wasn't an entirely forged expression either.

"Of course, of course." His eyes followed Cedarian's, knowing full well what the problem was. "It's a bit jarring, at first, I'll admit, but there is a sort of...quaintness to it. One for all and all for the weyr, I'm sure." He shifted where he stood, either intentionally or unconsciously, twisting his body to serve as something of a partition between the main of the room and where the young man sat. "If it helps at all, most of them are so busy at changing times wondering if anyone's watching them that they don't have time nor attention to do any watching themselves." Dolmar, of course, did watch. Not out of any perverse desire, but simply to know people better. Not to mention that it let him see who'd been watching him back, which was always worth knowing.

"I'm certain the candidate master's given you a tour, but I'd like to be the first to reiterate the offer to pass on what advice I'm qualified to give, should you think of something he might not have touched on. So terribly busy and all." That was certainly the truth. Every day it seemed like more and more kids and young adults were being dropped into their midst, despite the barracks already being near to capacity. "I'm afraid, also, that we've no clutch on the sands at present, so this...arrangement...looks a bit long-term, for the time being." And a grimace at that, again an honest one. If nothing else he'd be glad to be rid of the noise of so many people living together.

Masterharper

 

[Masterharper]

ShinosBee

Cedarian was doubly pleased that this young man knew of his home. If he puffed out (just a little) in pride, it couldn't be helped. While he knew of his home, and he knew their runners were of a particularly excellent quality, he understood that some uneducated brats didn't now one minor Hold from the next. Thankfully, this stranger, this Dolmar, wasn't such a let down. "We were hit hard by Thread, and lost some of our breeding stock. So long as the dragnriders continue to fight, we'll be be able to rebuild." While he understood that Thread's return had shocked all of Pern, he couldn't help but be a touch bitter. Hadn't the dragonriders, and Pern's great historians, promised an end to such a menace? Hadn't Pern put trust that such an enemy was forever gone?

Ah, but that was why he was here, wasn't it?

There was a new duty on Pern. With Thread's return, the world needed to call on dragons to protect it. While the strawberry blonde had never thought of himself as a warrior or fighter, and was still reeling from his Search that morning, he wasn't going to turn down such an opportunity. Besides, if he were to Impress, wouldn't that show his use to his father? Hmph. So, perhaps, his reasons for accepting Search weren't entirely selfless. Surely, not every Candidate here, including this Dolmar, had accepted the offer purely for honorable reasons.

"Have you been here at the Weyr long?" He finally asked, deciding that, perhaps, putting his things away could wait. He'd have, essentially, the rest of the day to settle in. He didn't have to go to classes until tomorrow, and it would be most rude to continue to do so with Dolmar nearby. "And have you stood for any clutches yourself?" He honestly didn't know much about Western Weyr. If there was no clutch then that mean there was nothing to look forward to immediately; but on the other hand, no clutch meant that some gold was due to rise eventually. "I must confess that it is all a bit much. Are there no private quarters anywhere here? Or must we all be grouped together in such a pack day in and day out?" While he had expected to be part of a group or team, he had hoped to find some quieter and more private places. Instead there were open bathing quarters, open dining halls, and even their own bedrooms were open quarters. "Is there no such thing as privacy here?"

It was clear that Cedarian wasn't impressed with the Weyr. He was judgmental, tha much was obvious, and while he didn't think himself as spoiled, he was in for a rude awakening now that he was a Candidate. Still, any true complaints he'd keep to himself. He didn't know Dolmar at all, and realized too late that he knew not what part of Pern the stranger hailed from. He didn't look like some of the rabble, but one could never be too sure. He wanted to ask, but unless it came up naturally, he felt it far to forward and rude to pry. Obviously Holdbred, and of good breeding, given some of the things he confessed.

Very good.
 

[ShinosBee]

Dolmar nodded sympathetically, mind already lacing over the implications of a serious loss of good stock at a hold like Exeter. "As long as there's enough to rebuild. We've lost enough valued bloodlines thanks to Thread." He was referring to more than runners then, and his brows twisted, like dragons wheeling into a grimace before he forced them with a thought back to placid stillness. "I was originally from...well, Telgar. Campbell's Field, to be specific." It didn't matter so much any more. The minor hold he'd been born in, grown up in, was gone. Literally gone. Telgar had been hit first, and was still only just beginning to recover, full thirds of a turn later. "Though I'd been at courtesan Hall for turns by then." There would be no recovering for his home; his own legacy would be all that was left, and that was a part of why he was determined to make more of a name for himself than he already had.

"A few months," He admitted. "I arrived just before last end of turn. Too recent to have been able to try my luck on the sands, I'm afraid, so I can't inform you on the intricacies of that beyond theory. Most of it will be covered in lessons. We've enough new faces, I'm certain they'll be restarting the curriculum again soon." He cast a judgmental eye out across the throng of people, all surging and swelling together in batches and cliques and pairs. "There's some division. Multiple classes, and of course, chores are divvied up." It was almost funny how much more natural a frown looked on the young man's face than a smile. "Though yes, we are all grouped here like so many herdbeasts, come the end of the day. Weyrlings have smaller quarters, I believe. Small groups until they're near graduation, then it's individual weyrs."

Oh, how he longed for his own space. The majority of his free time was spent composing letters to be sent off across Pern, and it was shardingly difficult to find the peace and quiet he ached to have, as far as stringing together thoughts and words in the way he liked. "There are free moments as well, and not everyone stays together then. Some come here, others to the dining halls; actually, with no clutch on the sands, the weyrbowl isn't terribly busy most days. If you don't mind everyone else coming and going." His sarcasm was subtle, but clear.

"No, in truth, until we've the luck to find our dragons or we turn in our robes, it seems we're going to be living like...this."

Masterharper

 

[Masterharper]

ShinosBee

The strawberry blond's frown grew as Dolmar mentioned his own home Hold. Campbell's Field... He had known enough about the major and more notable Hold's to recognize the name. What proper Holder's son didn't!? Unfortunately, he had been so busy dealing with the shock of tragedy at his own home that he hadn't had time to think much outside of the Western Continent. Unfortunately, even those living under rocks knew how poorly Telgar had fared during that First Fall. "My condolences," he spoke, for just a moment a small sliver of sincerity lacing his words. "Much of Pern suffered a shock, but I know that we'll persevere. That's why we're here, isn't it?" He gave a slight tilt of his head, looking away from Dolmar to glance around the crowded and loud room. He wouldn't call it suffering, as that would be an insult to those who truly were in great need, but these quarters were not at all what he expected. Thankfully, it seemed as if this well-groomed stranger was a kindred spirit of sorts.

"May Pern find better days, now that the Weyrs are getting organized." Funny, really, that High Reaches had been right all along. Cedarian had never thought much about the Weyr and its strict policies; he'd heard some stories from his older brother during his time at the Weyr, but that had been Turns prior. Everyone had thought the Weyrleaders a bit quirky, and their traditional style simply an oddity, but now, all of Pern was taking their lead.

Glancing back at the other man, Cedarian considered all that he'd learned. A fellow gentleman of good breeding that was surely an auspicious beginning. Someone who might understand the plight of the young Holder's son, and who already knew his way around Western Weyr. A good ally to be sure, if he played his cards right. Surely, Cedarian knew well when to play politics, even outside the Hold. Besides, hadn't this individual mention he was from the Courtesan Hall?

An interesting choice of a profession. He didn't look like he took up the more questionable arts, but, then again, could he really assume such a thing? He'd never actually met a real Courtesan before -- his father, at least one of them, would have strongly disapproved. "I'm from Harper Hall's Western Hall," he confessed, deciding that he might as well share his own studies. Perhaps it wasn't as prestigious as being sent to the main Hall in Fort, but it was affiliated all the same.

"I suppose it will have to do," he gave a small, resigned sniff, as if he had an choice in th matter. He could leave, but he wasn't such a dimglow as to honestly consider it. While the prospect of fighting Thread did (secretly) scare him, the thought of Impression was fascinating and ever alluring. Furthermore, wasn't he here, in part, to show his father what he was made of? He was no delicate flower... at least, that's what he was trying to prove. Sacrificing for Pern was a great honor, especially after all the devastation. Hed lost friends, or at least acquaintances, and witnessed the grief, shock, and fear firsthand. No, for all his selfish reasons for accepting Search, Cedarian did have honor and loyalty, of a sort.
 

[ShinosBee]

Dolmar took the offered condolences with a grace that verged momentarily upon coldness. Pain he'd kept at arms-length, not deigning to indulge it in any way these past months save for an increased personal business and a few silent, staring, wakeful nights spent staring at the ceiling. There was too much to be done to mourn, and he was stone and iron and ice, and he did not have it in him to weep.

His murmured words of thanks were genuine however, as was his elegant shrug. "It's what we've come here for, yes? Lending what strength we have yet to build up the weyrs again. Our individual talents and minds and bodies to build, or rebuild, the society we need to be able to survive, if not thrive, once more." Oh yes he could wax poetic when the mood struck. Courtesans had the same flair for wordplay that harpers did, but often without the musical lilt, and with a more...political mind.

"Nothing wrong with the Western Hall, for Harper at least. For the right talents, and the right price, perhaps the better choice." Of course the main hall would always carry more prestige, but that didn't mean that the branches might not have their own specialties, their own focus areas that'd serve some gifted students better, and for a fraction of the apprenticing cost, too. A frugal choice, if made well. And now he was a candidate regardless, and so it was even less of a matter to be minded.

He had no inkling of Cedarian's thought that he himself might be a bit peculiar. There was little wrong in his mind with being underestimated, though he had no awareness of judgement being cast either way. Courtesan Hall made dancers, perfumers, masseuses, all so sensual and lovely to look at and indulge in. That was what the hall was known for, but no one seemed to remember that it was also the training place for diplomats, and spies. Dolmar had picked his studies well, if he'd been asked his opinion, and he'd even learned a few new dance steps as well.

"It'll needs must do, yes, unless you'd rather hand in that shiny new white robe, I'm afraid." He cast an arm out at the noisy room. "It's not so bad a place though. Once you're used to the hubbub and the...smells." A fine wrinkle laced along his nose as one nostril curled. Really, some of their age mates needed to be retaught the basic creche-level lessons about hygiene.

Masterharper

 

[Masterharper]

ShinosBee

The strawberry blond listened to the other's polite words about coming to the Weyr. The courtesan did seem to have a way with words, but Cedarian had a secret. He hadn't come to the Weyr in search of honor and glory like many young men and women; he hadn't come to the Weyr out of a desire to protect. Honestly, Cedarian had come to the Weyr out of spite. He had never expected to be Searched, and at the time had his pride wounded from his father's snub. It had seemed like a good idea at the time. If he could Impress a dragon, perhaps he'd be able to make his father proud and bring honor to his name. He hadn't thought of what Candidate life would actually mean, or the reality of his new situation.

Unfortunately, the open and shared quarters were a dose of reality for the young man. Additionally, with everything Dolmar was saying, he almost felt a twinge of shame. His reasons for becoming a Candidate were, more or less, selfish, but nobody needed to know that. "Yes, I suppose you're right," he agreed, holding back a resigned sigh. "We have a new duty now, and there's no better place to be than here. What is prestige if there's no Pern? What is pride good for if the world is ravaged by Thread?" He gave a small snort, and a shake of his head. Even if, perhaps, he had come to the Weyr for his own selfish reasons, that did not make the possibility of Impression any less honorable. If a dragon chose him, then he would put his life on the line, and he would fight. At least he understood the risks of what he was signing up for by coming to the Weyr. At least, he thought he understood.

Thankfully, he didn't have to think about it too much. There were no eggs on the sands, and for now, the most important thing was to get settled into the Weyr. Dolmar seemed like a good ally; he'd do what he could to encourage some sort of acquaintanceship, and would need to root out any others of good blood and breeding. He cast a judgmental eye about the room. From the look of it, his pickings would be slim.

"It may not be the finest quarters, but they seem clean enough, thankfully. Is to safe to assume the bathing chambers are equally open?" His nose gave a small crinkle, and his brows knit once more. "I didn't expect them to roll out their fineries, but my brother only had to share quarters with three others when he was a Candidate. He was Searched to High Reaches Weyr, though. I suppose every Weyr has its own. . . charms." Bah.
 

[ShinosBee]

Many of Cedarian's thoughts were mirror to Dolmar's own. He still found much of the situation of their living quarters distasteful, and had made a point of being terribly selective with where he handed out his 'friendship'. Something had no value on the market if it was given to every passer-by for free, after all. "The bathig quarters at least are split by gender," He chimed in. "Small mercies indeed." He'd seen more than his share of half and unclad females in his time at Courtesan Hall (for how else would they grow first comfortable, and then empowered with their own forms?) and found their bodies no longer held the same immature, uncontrolled sort of hold over him that his age mates seemed to keen to allow.

"If I had to wager a guess, I would blame the later construction of Western for our arrangement. Your brother was lucky to be afforded such comparable...luxury." He chuckled, or at least pushed a more emphatic breath out through his slender, fine-wrought nose. "Is he a rider, then?" The idea that so many sons of a family as high-ranking as his happened to be had gone into what was essentially a military career was somewhat off in feel and thought. Perhaps the family had had more sons than he could quite recall at the moment. Especially among producing holds though, those of farmers or herders, he had always understood a desire to keep the family intact and at home, to increase the on-hand work force. It made Cedarian (and his potential rider brother) all the more interesting.

"If aught else, we've a rather...openness here than at other weyrs, from what I've read. No fear of disdain for those impressed to blue or green or white. And the beaches are always rather pleasing to the eye, and perhaps the body if you enjoy a swim." Such things seemed the summation of what the other candidates mentioned being their choice of delights in their shared home. Neither had impressed Dolmar half so well, but he had ever been finicky in choice of style, in clothing and in clime, and he made little effort to guard his slight disdain for those colors he considered lesser.

Masterharper

l

 

[Masterharper]

ShinosBee

Cedarian felt his fine, pale eyebrow raise just a hair as Dolmar confessed split bathing quarters. "Small mercies indeed," he gave a small snort, his own lips turning into the smallest of scowls. Oh bother. While he was accustomed to open bathing quarters, he couldn't say he liked them. They had been bad enough in the Harper Hall where the young boys and men were at least somewhat cultured. Oh, there was that familiar twang of homesickness -- not because he missed his family, but he did miss his privacy. It was something he may have taken for granted.

Ah, but here at least he was free, wasn't he? Hadn't his father made it clear that he hadn't wished him to return home? Hadn't he been told, albeit in the most brief letter, that the family could do just fine without him? He did have five older brothers, after all, and all of them much more welcome than him. Hmph. Well, he'd show his father what a mistake it was to spurn him -- he just had to Impress. Maybe it was following in his brother C'rian's footsteps, but he'd make his own way. Unlike C'rian, he'd make some sort of name of himself as a rider. He wasn't afraid of Thread... right?

"C'rian's a rider, yes. He Impressed a brown, Kronoseth." But that was about as much information as he'd give the other. He didn't want to admit that his brother wasn't officially a wingrider -- he was some trader who preferred to make marks than fight Thread. Honestly, this is where his brother and he differed -- Cedarian didn't think he could turn away from the fight. If his father didn't think he was capable of helping with clean up and restoration, he'd show him he was damned capable of fighting Thread. Assuming, of course, he charmed a dragon. If nothing else, he could at least make friends with important men and women of the Weyr.

Dolmar, he suspected, was already a good start.

"I suppose it's quaint in its own way," he finally, grudgingly agreed. His scowl softened some and he shrugged his delicate shoulders. "Different, but serves its purpose housing dragons. It will have to do, I suppose." It was out of their control. Thankfully, he had found himself a kindred spirit in the well-dressed and well-mannered Dolmar. Maybe, just maybe, it was an auspicious beginning to a new home. "Exeter's not far from the ocean, so I suppose the allure will be lost on me," He dismissed with a slight wave of his hand. "Does the Weyr have a a solid archive and records room, per chance?" That was where he planned to spend his free time for a while; away from the crowds, able to study up on the local history of Western Weyr, and brush up on knowledge about the neighboring holds and territory. Surely, while he wasn't expecting it to be as grandiose as the archives of Fort Hold or the Harper Hall, he would hope Western knew how to catalog its history, and have juicy records pertaining to neighboring Holds and the whose-who of the continent.

He might be a nobody, but the Weyr would prove useful to Cedarian, one way or another.
 

[ShinosBee]

"A fine, strapping brown, hmm? Nothing at all wrong with that." Except of course that it was not a bronze. Not that he'd say it. They both seemed to be the sort that understood the unsaid implications, both the type to understand ambition, and have their own feelings about a certain level of success. But outwardly he'd pass no judgement. A brown was a fine thing. A bit less gilded than a bronze, in terms of respect, but they could fly golds. They could be leaders if they worked at it. It was certainly better than...well.

"Quaint is a good word for it. It's nothing really worth writing home about, if you ask me, but it attracts enough attention that I'd say it's worth going now and then. The sand's a hassle, but you can meet interesting persons, if networking is your interest." A records room though, now that was something Dolmar was intimately familiar with! "Of course. Despite its...eccentricities, Western does still track her clutches and wing assignments, as any Weyr would. I've actually spent some time there myself of late, and I'd be more than happy to show you to them, once you're up for a bit of a ramble. Again with age besting youth, the way's a bit convoluted compared to some of the more directly carved Weyrs, but it's well-marked enough that once you've been there I don't doubt you'll be fine coming and going. Of course, there is curfew to mind, as well, but we have time."

Yes indeed, he'd made the right choice in introducing him to this young fellow. A kindred soul if ever one were to come out of a place like Exeter Hold. And with a brother atop a brown...somewhere. No, he hadn't missed that that information had been left out. But that was exactly what reading records was for finding out.

Masterharper

 

[Masterharper]

ShinosBee

Given this is pre-impression, I think wrapping this up is probably fine if you're down? Perhaps they can bump into one another again post-Impression. LOL Snobby boys need to stay friends, after all.

Cedarian was actually pleased that his brother had Impressed a brown. There were few enough browns to make them slightly more uncommon -- though they didn't exactly carry the prestige of a bronze. Still, if one did not Impress a metallic, than a brown was the next best thing -- and there were many a wingleader or wingsecond that rode such a creature. Cedarian hoped he could do just as well, if not better....

Though he also understood a dragon was a dragon and it was not up to the Candidate. While his ego might be horrified at Impressing a green, he also understood his particular tastes might be more suited to a smaller dragon. He would never admit it -- but where his father expected him to Impress a metallic, Cedarian had always had a shade of doubt. Not that anyone ever had to know.

"He certainly seems pleased, and his Kronoseth's color hasn't deterred them too much. He has caught the eye of a gold rider, and Kronoseth has even managed to clutch a few times." If there was a bit of pride in his voice, it couldn't be helped. How many dragons actually caught a queen, much less curry their favor into a flight? On the other hand, it also meant Cedarian was put in the spot of playing second-fiddle to C'rian -- C'rian, who had also stolen his hopeful honorific! Well, that was neither here nor there; besides which, he couldn't even worry about honorifics until he Impressed and that was far from guaranteed.

As Dolmar explained, Cedarian was pleased that he'd found a kindred spirit. He had worried that the Weyr might not settle well with him, especially after having come from a much more proper Hall. But here he was, having bumped into a quality Candidate that seemed to be cut from the same cloth he had been. Yes, he would need try to cultivate this friendship, and perhaps make a new alliance. "Well, I shall keep your advice in mind. I do appreciate all the time you've taken to welcome me, and such a kindness will not be forgotten." He gave a nod of his head, and a pleased smile to paint across his features. Yes, a good connection indeed. "I shall well take you up on the offer to the records rooms, when the time works out well for us both. I'm afraid I've much yet to do before the evening meal." He looked down at his bed, and all the clothes he now needed to transfer into the chest. Oh, how he wished for an armoir or some sort of closet as he had back at Exeter and even within the Harper Hall -- but the chest would have to do.

"It shall certainly be an adjustment, but I am quite pleased to meet those of good breeding and excellent taste." And that was the truth.