“That would be suspicious,” Zechariah answered lightly, neither confirming nor denying.

Crane? At his beck and call? Following at his heel like one of those ladies’ brainless dogs? Hm, hm, hm.

“I will see you at eight,” he confirmed.

Larger than life. Zechariah considered himself quite humble, thank you very much. But – Zechariah had a date. A date … and a letter to send.

It was the letters that had begun this, after all. Why give up the kindling that had started the flame?

Was going for candles rather than the electric lights too much? Was it bad form to banish Mr. Benjamin to the opera on the off chance Elijah was not so innocent as he made himself out to be? … And should he send Mr. Benjamin for hand cream more often so it just seemed like he was masturbating too much?

Which he was, but not with hand cream.

The sun was beginning to set at eight. Zechariah lurked in the parlor, eager to whisk Elijah away from prying neighbors’ eyes the second he knocked.