Ephraim was used to sneers. Whether it was because he acted like an oaf or he happened to be missing a certain organ, strangers sneered and spat upon him all the time. And while the mind working behind his broad smile was sharp, he gave no indication of noticing the disdain then or now. He only gave a quizzical tilt of his head and smiled again when she said tea would be nice in a less than enthusiastic tone.
Teeth flashed as she stated that he smelled like “them,” and instinct more than sense made his hand jerk away. A hurt expression lazily crossed his face as he wiped his paws on his white belly fur, as if rubbing himself would erase his scent. He scooted backwards from her a few inches and sat down Indian-style, hands folded in his lap.
“I’m so sorry, my darling,” the eunuch said, voice soft but thick with emotion—most feigned, although he did feel rather sad as he looked at her cropped ears and milky eye. “I smell like them because I go outside, sometimes, for work. But maybe I can help you when I go outside—oh, I met a nice girl who asked if we needed anything.” His level of idiocy dropped, replaced with a more or less genuine compassion.
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