How Human Nature dotes
On what it can't detect.
The moment that a Plot is plumbed
Prospective is extinct –
--"How Human Nature Dotes" by Emily Dickinson--
It echoed in every step of her foot upon the hard, reflective floors. She heard it in every beat of her heart and the rhythm her breaths. It even hummed in the air. Never was it more present, however, than in the gaze of her employer.
She could swear that there were times when his gaze darkened. No longer were his eyes a clear blue, but a shade darker. Smiles that had been stiff and formal almost stretched like the grin of a Cheshire Cat. He had to be unaware she noticed these changes—sometimes witnessing them occasionally from her periphery. Yet they were there.
Rebecca valued her ability to read people, but Jonathan Crane was proving difficult. It just didn't make sense.
How could it be that one moment it seemed as he was unconsciously trying to analyze her and in the next as if he wanted to devour her?