There's another long pause, followed by her laughter.

"Oh, yes. Course y'are." She leans forward, eyes drifting up. "Silly of me t'forget the feel of that lovely thick hair of yours slidin' between my fingers."

Take that, Brother-of-Raph -- he who thinks he can come here and mock her!

"Raph. Nice wig," says Thomas, moving past them with four tankards per hand.

Abigail swings around to watch her brother, then swings back to Raph. Astounded.