<div class="floatleft">(https://elliquiy.com/elluiki/images/3/3a/Yulturn.png)</div><hr/><span class="bbc_size" style="font-size: 14pt;"><strong>JULIET DEMALURE | 23 | SOCIETY WOMAN? DIMINISHED HEIR? </strong></span><hr/><br/>Professor Smith! Goodness! What?!<br/><br/>Miss Demalure had not considered the portly old bastard for some time. It felt like years, although was a fraction thereof, so much living had been done. Once she realized the American medical doctor was en route to visit the old man of letters, she was astonished. A world of coincidences, to be sure, but then it turned out she was hooked into travelling not only with the man (doctor of<em>psychiatry</em>she learned, and so not a real doctor), but a bevy of others.<br/><br/>At times, she considered tucking away, finding another means to get to the portly professor's home. It was, after all, something to do, and her curiosity was maddening, but already had she wrongfooted herself with this Brockman fellow, and for a time she struggled maintaining an American accent, aware that she was not the best at this particular ruse. Moments, she tried to slip into more of American street vernaculars, knowing the range of cities from Baltimore to Boston had different styles of talk.<br/><br/>For a time, this was successful, but with so many people, joined together, and knowing that Professor Smith would catch her out with any puppet show, she finally started letting the French slide of her native tongue slide into what emerged as closer to the British sing-song of how she'd learned the language of the Emerald Isles. Still consciously devising accents to match whomever she spoke to -- the bodacious, impressive nurse, the soldier, the Arabian woman -- she was turning into a hodgepodge.<br/><br/>Avoiding Brockman, she spoke with the women, caressing conversation in their direction, and was keen to find her room. Not minding going with Marta, she nodded. "A hot toddy against this weather? Positively sporting," she ventured, still trying to locate a firm identity, her mind still drawn to Smith. The sod.