Errol treated books with even more reverence than she herself did; he wasn't careless with them, ever. Ever. Beauty shifted her eyes to the spot where that book had hit the carpet, then quickly away again. The tiny tiptoeing whisper that this was a mistake had roared to a full-blown shriek inside her mind. She reminded herself again of what Hannibal had said about how he had been forced to speak, how it had been important... and how valuable patience was. Patience. Perhaps if she helped him start...
"I know that you're Librian, and your home was in the future," she said gently. "You had made your peace with leaving the place before the City pulled you here. You had one or two important people there. When I first met you, you told me you weren't ready to talk about it, so I presumed it was painful for you. I don't mean to hurt you, Errol, but I want to know you. I want to really know you. It is important."
At last, she looked up from where she'd been curled on the floor. Errol was staring at the book he was holding, but his eyes weren't seeing anything in front of him. Her heart twisted guiltily. Was it a mistake? It felt like a mistake.