[Dean dismisses the last part as posturing, or maybe testing an idea to see if it flies as well outside in the air as it does inside one's head. He remembers speaking with de Carabas about London Below, and the sharp, paper-cut wounds it left in both of them: tiny, painful, easily healed. He doesn't forget as much as he pretends to.
There's too much here that Dean doesn't know, and he's aware of that. It doesn't always stop him from pressing forward anyway but now he's almost cautious, taking a step only when he's certain of it. He only has the story the Marquis has told him, and it is a story of creation - it's a story about the past.
The distant past. The Marquis has been the Marquis too long for it to be fresh, and even Dean knows that. So he works with what he's been told, and what he hasn't been.
The hunter asks again:] What is this conversation?
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There's too much here that Dean doesn't know, and he's aware of that. It doesn't always stop him from pressing forward anyway but now he's almost cautious, taking a step only when he's certain of it. He only has the story the Marquis has told him, and it is a story of creation - it's a story about the past.
The distant past. The Marquis has been the Marquis too long for it to be fresh, and even Dean knows that. So he works with what he's been told, and what he hasn't been.
The hunter asks again:] What is this conversation?