No doubt, you expect a letter from me? I feel, therefore, honor-bound to do something unexpected, which leaves me unable to send you a poem also. It is very wrong of you to put such pressure on me. I can hardly be expected to find something to say that will suitably impress you.
Instead, I direct you to a scene: The Netherfield Ball dance between Mr. Darcy and Elizabeth Bennett. And then I pose a question: When do you think they fell in love, one with the other? And then another: Why?
Oh, dear. That was all very expected, I fear.
A question for you then, one between friends (which I hope you consider us to be). What would make you happy, Daniel? Beyond Vaughn, beyond these things that we will see you clear of, what would bring you happiness?
We have shared confidences, you and I. Share this one with me now?