"I knew he had been married," he corrected. He dropped his hands, fiddling aimlessly with the small objects that littered his desk. "He told me--or gave me to understand, at least--that you were dead." Grey picked up a small silver paperweight, and turned it over and over in his hands, eyes fixed on the gleaming surface. A large sapphire was set in it, winking blue in the candlelight. "Has he never mentioned me?" he asked softly. I wasn't sure whether the undertone in his voice was pain or anger. Despite myself, I felt some small sense of pity for him. "Yes, he did," I said. "He said you were his friend." He glanced up, the fine-cut face lightening a bit. "Did he?"