Date: 2007-12-29 03:44 am (UTC)
Francis wasn't stupid, but he was easily distractable when it came to matters of marriage, and he cared about his own far more than he cared about Camilla and Henry's. Their wedding had been ludicrous and awful, but at least they had a decent marriage set out for themselves, which was more than he could say for his own sad self. "The circumstances?" Francis asked, drolly amused, but didn't push the issue any further. "Such as they were, yes." He adjusted his pince-nez and squinted at his handwriting.

"I suppose you're right," he went on, in dismayed agreement. "Well, what is it that I miss most, then." He didn't think 'his credit card' was necessarily the best answer to that question, nor the brain cells he had lost in all the time they'd spent together. He struggled for a moment. "Oh, I don't know." He laughed. "It's so hard to decide."

He reached over, suddenly, and pulled out a drawer, reaching into it and fishing out a photograph. "What do you say, Charles, do you want to help me mix up a few metaphors?" He held the photograph out to him; she had insisted he take it with him before he left the city. Priscilla Abernathy, in all her doe-eyed glory, sitting by the lake in Central Park by herself and beaming at no one. It seemed horribly apt to Francis, but at least it was a pretty picture.
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