*dies at the sheer serene righteousness of your icon* :D
He props his hand on his chin and... swallows. Hard. "Well," he fidgets a bit, "old habits are to break, non รจ vero? When one is used to sleeping... like that, everything else feels very confining. Like, when they heap too many blankets on you. Or when they want you to wear something stiff and itchy," he elaborates for her benefit.
"It would be wrong to sell them to a priest, indeed," he says, all sibilance and sanctimoniousness. "But, to give truth the honour, a priest shouldn't really look at that kind of thing anyway, you know?"