He did not say anything. He simply stopped and considered for a full minute before continuing to walk slowly towards me. It was too sensory—if that is the right word—the sound of his footsteps, the sweet tang of an air not usually found in London, the press of the pavement against my bare feet. As he came closer, walking in a half circle around me, his eyes missing nothing, all thoughts of dancing and the twins and Arabella and Islington evaporated.
