Wapun Meadow victorian writer 2 steps away from dying of brain fever

He felt it, too. He might not have loved her like she loved him, but he was still very much still susceptible to the charms of a woman, and a beautiful one at that. No less a woman that had borne and raised his children. His own loins tightened at the desire of her, but he managed to pull away, focusing on business. Blood, not lust. The passion of revenge, not of consummation.

It's fine, Verx shot back, giving her a wry smile. I get it. And I hope you do. Just. . .be careful, Aure. It's not just you to look out for, now. He wasn't comfortable in the least leaving his children to an unknown fate at Diaspora, particularly if they were to end up in the care of Mahler and Stigmata. God, they'd never let him see them again.

He twisted his mouth in thought, finally shaking his head after a moment, unable to come up with a mental picture of the man. You haven't, he murmured. His eyes drifted toward the children, engaged in some play nearby. But hey, let's go spend time with our kids. . .and you can tell me on the way?

An olive branch, albeit a small one. Still, he was trying.

wrap this up?