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After the statement's dregs have dribbled from Booth like the last of a stubborn syrup bottle, he pitches forward and gasps as if winded. Jon brings him a glass of water, which he drains in ungracious gulps.
"You’re sure you want to keep going?" In truth, the recounting of his friend’s end has merely whetted the Eye’s appetite, but Jon is loath to take more than he's willing to give.
"I've weathered worse," says Booth, a shaky smile brightening his drawn, tired expression. The effect is striking. Jon considers, not for the first time, that Augustus Blaine was an idiot.
While Booth discusses Ivo, the creature he describes as a demon, a pallor comes over him. Though his words flow no less easily, his voice gains an edge of self-loathing. Jon has never excelled at controlling his demeanor; he's concerned Booth may take his reactions as pity, or worse, disgust.
When the story is done, however, Booth meets his eyes more confidently. Color returns to the face beneath that shock of white hair. He refuses Jon's offers of tea and air both, and proceeds to the next statement at a pace belying the strain he's already begun to buckle under.
Peculiarities of diet aside, the ladies at the Hotel Chrysalis clearly served the End. Echoes of the Desolation, the Spiral, and the Buried resonate through other tales. Where Jon falters is explaining the ghosts. They defy his knowledge of truth in the supernatural. Booth left his world of origin behind when he explored the house on Hill Top Road, but he still sees spirits, and Jon knows he's not lying.
Though Booth is worn from exertion by now, he agrees readily to Jon's proposal for a trip to the site of his old museum. The Institute's budget can take it.
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