Pursuit of the Sun 1.2

-- Words cannot be trusted... Not even the greatest poet can express what he truly thinks with words. Words are but a poor shadow of the soul...
The last sentence was spoken aloud. The constable begins to massage his temples, and the lady drinks her glass in one gulp.
Two young women, dressed slightly more revealingly than is customary in such society, approach the group. Just a little, but enough to leave little room for speculation about their profession.
-- Noble gentlemen, you seem troubled, -- they curtsy. -- Perhaps we could entertain you with a dance?
-- Or ease your souls in another way?