She snorts. "Are you going to get on my case for smoking next? Not that I do. It's an even filthier habit than this one," she says, waving her bloody fingers before rifling through her pocket for a handkerchief to clean up the mess. She snaps her own book shut with her other hand and tucks it under her arm.

The way he pulls his book to his chest catches her eye. She squints and tilts her head, trying to get a better look at it. "Mind if I ask what you're reading? I'm always looking for new recommendations and this XaXingian poetry is either too brilliant for me to understand or too idiotic for me to absorb. Finnegan's Wake-ish, almost."

Possibly the fact that it's written in a different language doesn't help, but that didn't stop her when she was eight and wanted to read Spider-Man comics in English and it certainly won't stop her now.