There Miss McMillan stood, not quite as polished as usual; there was still a hint of sickness in her voice. Mister Ray took a breath to tell her that she should go rest, as she was not well, but before a word could leave his mouth she was pleading, and had already guessed what he had been about to say. “Please, do not tell me to go back to my room and stay there. I am fine already, sir. Would you not lend me a book, Mister Ray? Something interesting?”<br/><br/>She insisted she was fine. Mister Ray’s analytical eyes swept over the young girl. Perhaps she was mildly peaky, but her words seemed to ring true; it appeared she had recovered. “I’m pleased that you are well, Miss McMillan.”<br/><br/>As an educator, and as a book enthusiast, Ray felt himself giving in to her plea. The girl must be bored, and restless, he thought. He knew that when he was confined to one place for a long time, he grew extremely antsy. But a good book never failed to quell that restiveness. He rocked back on his feet for a moment, considering, and then relented, “Very well, Miss McMillan, let us find an interesting book for you.”<br/><br/>He nodded, spun sharply on his heels, and made for the direction of his quarters once more, gesturing for her to come along. In his mind he flipped through his books, trying to decide on one that might be of interest to Miss McMillan. When they arrived at his room, he held the door open for her. “Please come in. I think I know just the one.”<br/><br/>Mister Ray’s quarters were immaculate, but plain. He had been there just over a month, and was not much of a decorator, so there were very little personal embellishments. But he was fastidiously tidy by nature. The bed sheets were even and devoid of wrinkles, the pillow fluffed and sharp at the corners. All clothes were out of sight, tucked tightly away in his dresser, where they were organized by color. His desk was unmarred by crooked writing utensils and crumpled papers, and his teaching materials were neatly stacked and separated by subject. But most organized – and treasured – of all were his books. He did not have a large collection, as books were expensive, but every one he owned had been thoroughly read at least once or twice and was never mishandled. If his books were ever damaged, it was only due to the previous owner’s treatment of it.<br/><br/>He strode to the meticulously organized bookshelf and squinted at the titles. “Please make yourself comfortable, Miss McMillan,” and, suddenly remembering his manners, Mister Ray pulled a seat from where it directly faced the window to a more accessible position and offered it to her. Then he returned to the shelf, skimming his modest collection, and pulled out a blemished old volume. He held it caringly in his hands, almost like it was a child, and blew a faint layer of dust off the edges. Then he stepped over to Miss McMillan and extended it to her. “This is a good one. I presumed you would prefer one that is more, ah, business-oriented. May I ask why you care for such things at all?”<br/><br/>He said this more curiously than judgmentally, pale blue eyes observing her face amiably.