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Summary
Little caught and held Jopson’s gaze for a long, vibrating moment: there was want there, but that was nothing new. Jopson’s comeliness was known amongst the men as cold was known, as homesickness. A shared discomfort, to have something so lovely and unattainable amongst them—at least Crozier often told him so, especially when his own mouth was too full to answer.
But now Little rose abruptly.
“Sir, thank you. I truly appreciate your generosity. But I do not wish to impose upon yourself and Mr. Jopson.” He glanced uneasily at the decanter of whiskey, now mostly empty. “Truly. It is—too great a gift.”
“I could order you,” Crozier replied.