"No. I don't mean," he says, and looks back at the television; down at his hands.

A day trading grins and swift glances; a dinner watching hands on cutlery and lips on wineglasses; ten minutes over tea and coffee, just thinking, and knowing, and - relishing.

Stupid. Stupid, stupid, stupid.

He drags a hand over his face, and for a moment, rims of deep red show beneath his eyes.

"Forget it."