[She slips an arm around him, pulling him close and nuzzles him back, pressing her lips to the yellow flames before settling the book on her lap]

Edgar Allen Poe? [She traces his name on the cover] He lived a sad life from what I can remember. He died in the gutter. [What a horrible way to end up but she supposes everyone comes close now and again. After a moment she glances at him.]

Would you like some tea? It's chamomile. It's said to be very relaxing.