"—Always do the right thing," Penelope supplied, giving his hand a squeeze. Perhaps he felt too modest to say so himself, but it was inevitably true. She was certain many people who have scoffed at the idea of him going to a dinner party given by her family, including her brother, but when she'd been the one willing to renege, he'd insisted on their attending. He'd shared a million little tidbits with her, about antics his sister pulled that he'd (long-sufferingly, but still) tried to mend. Although she wasn't aware of the particulars, she understood he and Octavius had had their differences over the year, and yet he was responsible for this very fun evening. If it was not obvious Charles Spinnet was a very good person, it was an under-sight on the observer.
But because he did do that noble and loyal thing so often, and so well, Penelope thought she'd have to be the one to put an end in the attempts to scale what was for now an insurmountable obstacle, before irreparable damage by one party was done. "And I appreciate that, I do," she made certain to say, very clearly.
"But," she chewed her lip in a frightful habit of old, wondering how best to put into words what nothing but a few hollow-sounding utterances in the lonely dark some time ago could convey, "as I said to her, and will say to you, I think it's time to give up the ghost for this one thing. He's—everything else is fine as it is, isn't it?"
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