"No, no. Nothing like that at all," she is quick to say, her attention veering away from him to the snake in the planter. She reaches out to touch along the tip of its tail, the creature's muscular little body rippling under her fingertip.

(Evidently direct exposure had been the right course to take in tackling certain aversions; congratulations on your discerning eye, Mr. Dickerson.)

"It's just the polite thing to do on occasion. To ask someone how they are. And also, it occured to me that other day that some time ago you had seemed slightly dissatisfied with the circumstances of your association with—Well. With Mr. Stark and myself. I was somewhat distracted at the time and failed to properly return to the subject to see it settled, but I suppose later to be better than never. Particularly now that there is Mr. Fitz, and de Foncé has elected to be so rude, and as we are all of us are being rather demanding of your time and expertise with respect to the Orzammar affair. That's all."