It was quick becoming a crush, the crowd -- pedestrians edging up close to the street, traffic stalled while policemen did their level best to get everyone on their way, to move past the aborted faux fireworks lightshow which most of them had missed. ('What was it? Do you smell that?' 'Something about a gas leak.' 'An explosion!' 'A mess like this? It's the wedding, come on, of course it's the wedding.') Elizabeth took it all in, fair head cocked, scanning the scene with an interested intensity not too far from that of trained hunting dog's. A voice nearby -- 'I think you're asking the wrong guy.' -- was that for her?
She turned just a touch, glanced just over her shoulder to find a woman who seemed pretty, but drawn. Dark and fair in one go, perhaps not quite so pulled in as the rest of them; distracted-- by what? "If He doesn't know," Lizzie smiled as much as said, that wry sort of smile which hinted toward been-there-done-that-worn-the-religion, "then I don't suppose there's any hope for the rest of us. Did you lose someone?"