"Ah, true! No, don't apologize, the fault is mine, I should have tried harder to direct you to the right sort of company." Bahorel's grinning,too--their differences of opinion in the matter of a good night out are an old and comfortable joke. "You missed the best of conversations, if you've never spoken to a very certain bat--"

--The words stop in a choked sound. It's back full force, the loss of all those other conversations, all those faces he'll never see again, absurd and serious and strange and loved, ripping up through him like a butcher's meathook. He can't keep talking, can hardly breath.

It fades, as all such intensities have to -- seconds, minutes, it takes the time it takes.

He takes a breath, and runs a hand over his face, and half-laughs. "--a more dangerous party than I expected. My compliments to the hostess."