He turns his head away for a second or two, reassessing, then offers something slightly less like nonsense: "Not hungry, I mean."

Urgh. That excuse always works so easily when he hasn't just spent a long span of time in someone's observant company. Which used to be never.

"Ah. I'd wondered. Not much in the way of rhythm down in the capital either, as we've seen." Their meetings are random and disorderly and completely unscheduled. It's worked so far, and he's not knocking it. "I was wondering if there was a way to tell how long I've hung about in your property. Don't think I ought to get in the habit of imposing, but I've never had much sense of time. My shop closes when I close it."