Don’t be modest, my dear Silver. It doesn’t become you. Where is that proud, boastful boy who stands across from me each night, chin high. If you must know, yes, I do like your haughty manner. I find myself wondering, do you wear it always? Or if perhaps, in certain moments, might I find you more tender and servile? I should like to discover the truth of this.
Don’t be modest, my dear Silver. It doesn’t become you. Where is that proud, boastful boy who stands across from me each night, chin high. If you must know, yes, I do like your haughty manner. I find myself wondering, do you wear it always? Or if perhaps, in certain moments, might I find you more tender and servile? I should like to discover the truth of this.FROM A LETTER ADDRESSED TO LORD SILVER
Jack mounted the stairs, following
