[ And this isn't the first time he's heard that — not even the second — and he's a man who's adapted easily to the sensibilities of the time he's found himself in, but he still thinks there's something to be said for women's intuition, or at least their willingness to speak these things aloud. For his part it doesn't bear mentioning, and he knows maybe it's just because he can't bear it. So he only offers her a similarly reserved smile, nothing more or less, in acknowledgment. ]
I know a little of what that's like. [ An echo of Peggy's words to him, in her typical British understatement. He's not unaware he's doing it, whether it comes more readily because of the dream or not. Everything certainly feels real, more like the vision it originally was than a dream. He can feel the silk of this woman's dress under his hand, and experimentally he lets go to guide her into a spin, but it doesn't invite the noise back in. ]
Normally I'd ask a woman her name before asking for a dance, [ he says apologetically, once she's back in his arms. Not that he's ever danced. He's not sure this even counts. ]
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I know a little of what that's like. [ An echo of Peggy's words to him, in her typical British understatement. He's not unaware he's doing it, whether it comes more readily because of the dream or not. Everything certainly feels real, more like the vision it originally was than a dream. He can feel the silk of this woman's dress under his hand, and experimentally he lets go to guide her into a spin, but it doesn't invite the noise back in. ]
Normally I'd ask a woman her name before asking for a dance, [ he says apologetically, once she's back in his arms. Not that he's ever danced. He's not sure this even counts. ]