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The gravy came, somewhat pale and thin, but adequate: Jack ate and drank. "Surely you will have a little more?" he said. "The bird lies before you, or what is left of it. And another glass of wine?"
"I will not. I have done quite well; and as I said, I must be tolerably Spartan. I shall probably have a busy day tomorrow, starting early. But I will join you when the port comes on."
Jack ate on without embarrassment -- they were very old friends, differing widely in size, weight, capacity, requirements -- but without much appetite either.
Stephen said, "Will I tell you another of Plato's observations?"
"Pray do," said Jack, his smile briefly returning.
"It should please you, since you have a very pretty hand. Hinksey quoted it when I dined with him in London and we were discussing the bill of fare: 'Calligraphy,' said Plato, 'is the physical manifestation of an architecture of the soul.' That being so, mine must be a turf-and-wattle kind of soul, since my handwriting would be disowned by a backward cat; whereas yours, particularly on your charts, has a most elegant flow and clarity, the outward form of a soul that might have conceived the Parthenon."
OKAY, I AM TELLING YOU, COMING FROM A CLASSICIST LIKE STEPHEN, THAT IS LIKE. SDKLJFLSAKJAF;LSKDF. IF YOU HAVE STUDIED THE PARTHENON, YOU WILL UNDERSTAND. *tiny helpless shippy noises*
That day, Jack was amazed to discover that when Stephen was saying, "Blah blah Parthenon," what he meant was, "I love you."
(A turf-and-wattle kind of soul. Oh, Stephen.)
"I will not. I have done quite well; and as I said, I must be tolerably Spartan. I shall probably have a busy day tomorrow, starting early. But I will join you when the port comes on."
Jack ate on without embarrassment -- they were very old friends, differing widely in size, weight, capacity, requirements -- but without much appetite either.
Stephen said, "Will I tell you another of Plato's observations?"
"Pray do," said Jack, his smile briefly returning.
"It should please you, since you have a very pretty hand. Hinksey quoted it when I dined with him in London and we were discussing the bill of fare: 'Calligraphy,' said Plato, 'is the physical manifestation of an architecture of the soul.' That being so, mine must be a turf-and-wattle kind of soul, since my handwriting would be disowned by a backward cat; whereas yours, particularly on your charts, has a most elegant flow and clarity, the outward form of a soul that might have conceived the Parthenon."
-- Patrick O'Brian, The Commodore, p. 173
OKAY, I AM TELLING YOU, COMING FROM A CLASSICIST LIKE STEPHEN, THAT IS LIKE. SDKLJFLSAKJAF;LSKDF. IF YOU HAVE STUDIED THE PARTHENON, YOU WILL UNDERSTAND. *tiny helpless shippy noises*
That day, Jack was amazed to discover that when Stephen was saying, "Blah blah Parthenon," what he meant was, "I love you."
(A turf-and-wattle kind of soul. Oh, Stephen.)
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EDIT: Oh, after reading Treason's Harbour, I am annoyed at Stephen for not confiding more in Jack, and this just brings all the glee and joy and sob-inducing love right back. XD
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