[The grin curling his lips at that instinctive little twitch only broadens at Doyle’s answer. He raises his brows, mimicking shock.] Try? [The word is met with a sharp, breathless laugh. His hand clenches and unclenches around the pole of his spear. Does he think this a joke, Isaac muses - does he think him a joke?]
My dear Doyle... I do not try to enjoy what it is I do. It entertains me as it is.
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My dear Doyle... I do not try to enjoy what it is I do. It entertains me as it is.