Ironic. I'm here because of my inherent dangerousness, but it's my inherent politeness that makes me put up with this. With him.

Nay, but prithee, with sprinkles 'pon it instead," I said solemnly, "and frosting of white.

Acceptable hypocrisy is often called politeness.

He stares at me so darkly, so hungily that I can only nod. Agree. Of course, I feel it. "I do", I admit.

I respond, thoughts dropping away, like pebbles plopping one by one in water, sinking down, down into dark oblivion.

You cold?' He chafes my arms. I haven't been cold since I moved here. This is something else. 'No. But you can put your arms around me anyway.