“But I hope she is. For you are lovely, Hawkes.” Again, only the slightest ripple of a response. “She is,” he replied in all sincerity, like a string of white clouds in a blue sky. I nodded. “How wonderful for you.” He looked right at me. Smiled. His bearing shifted. And I could see—I knew—Hawkes was about to perform one of his disappearing acts—the kind where he would simply walk away.
BECAUSE YOU ARE LOVELY. BECAUSE HE IS IN LOVE WITH YOU. OBVIOUSLY.
