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Maidens and matrons, bright as butterflies, sip tea from porcelain cups; mothers and grandmothers retire to their corner for smoky gawa or fruit brandy. Conversations eddy and flow, always returning to everyone's favorite subject, the Steward's sons.
The young ones sigh, exchanging memories of a smile, a glance, a hand held for one long, encouraging moment. Their elders tiptoe daintily around one son – “not interested, you know”- to consider, as always, the other: graceful, gracious, elusive.
“Just throw a book at him! That will get his attention,” a saucy granddame cackles, to polite laughter; some listeners nod thoughtfully.
For the “Cups” challenge. Another plotbunny hurled by the dangerous Lady Branwyn.
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