Chapter 77

My champagne flute halts mid-air of its own accord. "I'm sorry?"

Next to Irene, her husband sucks at his teeth, stares into his wine glass, then helps himself from a bowl of nibbles.

My Master shifts beside me, eyes glinting. He's opening his mouth to speak when another voice breaks in, the man from the fourth couple on the table, who I've not yet had chance to speak to.

"It's an interesting word, isn't it…" he drawls, aiming his words at Irene. His accent is cultured. The words clipped and well enunciated. "… Sophistication. And the way the word is used these days… In its original sense, it meant contaminated, or impure. The word derives from a Latin root and is closely allied with sophistry, meaning, to make a false argument with the intent to convince one's audience."

Irene flushes, looking away. The man who spoke head-jerks and eye-rolls her way, then tilts his glass at me. I flush too, but I tilt back.

I lean sidelong, murmuring, "Who's that?"

My Master speaks from the corner of h