Alexander studied me with narrowed eyes, running his tongue across his teeth. “Probably as Octavius,” he decided. “They won’t make you Antony—no offense, but you’re just not conspicuous enough. It’ll be that insufferable third-year, what’s his name?” Filippa: “Richard the Second?” Richard: “Hilarious. No, Colin Hyland.”
That actually made me laugh. I hate Richard already.
