Ithacles lay in silence for a while. The most he gave Vedette was a wave of his hand, nodding it almost like a puppet. It was almost sinister as far as he was concerned, holding a ball for the express purpose of pressuring him to marry. And if he knew Lethe as well as he did, she'd told quite a few people about her intentions. And she'd probably told all of them that they were the only persons to know...
He almost fell asleep, but having to spit again saved him from that. He wiped his mouth with the back of a coat sleeve, rubbed clean snow on his face, and wiped it once again with the sleeve.
"Like shit," he mumbled. Only half of his sentence got said out loud.
He sat up suddenly and eyed her. He appeared strangely lucid, all things considered, with bright clear eyes.
"You must be pretty done with too, out here in that dress. Not shivering."
And he stood up and went for the door. Of course, Lethe was on the other side of it, arms folded.