[He's tired now, lifting a hand to rub across his face. And he sighs, a bit in exasperation at this reminder. What is he, twelve? But he knows better to not get snippy... much. His tone is flat instead of irritated.]
No, Emma, I'm not twelve. [Then he freezes, looking over to her at that slip. He doesn't know where it came from, other than the fact he was just thinking...] Miss Frost.
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No, Emma, I'm not twelve. [Then he freezes, looking over to her at that slip. He doesn't know where it came from, other than the fact he was just thinking...] Miss Frost.