Peggy can kind of see that—the whole ‘opposites attract’ thing—but at the same time, she's confused. Wouldn't Ginsberg just steamroll right over someone this shy? The man Peggy knows is stubborn, unpredictable, competitive, loud. Frightening sometimes, too, with his desperate sort of strangeness. She's never sure how she should feel about that, knowing what she knows.
Even with Lee so lost for words, though, Ginsberg's not trying to talk for her yet. That's as much restraint as Peggy's ever seen him show. The couple stands very close together, practically touching. She wouldn't call Ginsberg's demeanor ‘protective,’ exactly (the thought of Ginsberg trying to be protective is bizarre). The word ‘supportive’ also comes to mind, but seems just as out of place. It's something both more and less than that. She feels like she knows which word she's looking for, but she can't quite reach it. So irritating.
“Exclusivity can be a good thing,” Peggy replies, trying to be politely encouraging even though the conversation is clearly unsalvageable. In the back of her mind, she hears Joyce saying, Watch out, Pegasus. Her ‘friend’ is probably Andy Warhol. That's just the kind of thing Ginsberg would fail to mention.