Beneath the protective coverings that obscured his form, was the man Martha knew. The rail thin, tall, forgetable Mekhet with his pressed slacks, oxford shirt, and a vest that he fixed with a slight tug of his finger-tips. The curtsey took him aback and he ruffled his hair at the back of his head with a hand. A curtsey was just not something David was expecting.
Should, David ventured, his voice quieter as though afraid to challenge Silence's rule once more, we adjourn upstairs, ma'am?
One final, sweeping glance around the rooms confirmed that they were clean and his job for the evening finished. Turning back towards Martha, he waited to join her on the short-walk out of the proverbial underworld.
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