He tips his head, like he considers this last thing a curious thing for her to say, but rather than speak to it, he notes it and moves on.
"Agnes," Marcus says. "Is her name. And aye, they didn't."
He reaches for the small pile of materials he'd placed down, taking the writing slate, locating the chalk piece, although not yet putting it in front of her as he speaks.
"You're a decent reader, and by my estimation," he touches the page in front of him, "more literate than most common folk you'll encounter in daily life. Accomplished men and women get along fine with much less. But those men and women don't tend towards a career in an outfit like Riftwatch. Do you have scholarly ambitions, or-- are you pursuing something more practical?"
no subject
"Agnes," Marcus says. "Is her name. And aye, they didn't."
He reaches for the small pile of materials he'd placed down, taking the writing slate, locating the chalk piece, although not yet putting it in front of her as he speaks.
"You're a decent reader, and by my estimation," he touches the page in front of him, "more literate than most common folk you'll encounter in daily life. Accomplished men and women get along fine with much less. But those men and women don't tend towards a career in an outfit like Riftwatch. Do you have scholarly ambitions, or-- are you pursuing something more practical?"