XVII

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"One man scorned and covered with scars still strove with his last ounce of courage to reach the unreachable stars; and the world was better for this." Joe Darion on Don Quixote, Man of La Mancha 

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XVII.

After the troubling and revealing first night of their honeymoon, Jack and Claire managed to find a middle ground for the remainder of their time in London.

Even conversations that seemed to be about nominal interests turned into revealing conversations. A week after their night at the theatre, Jack and Claire had taken a picnic lunch in one of Ashwood's curricles to sit in Hyde Park. The weather demanded it, and as sunny days in autumn were few and far between, an outing was necessary.

Claire enjoyed people watching in London. Everyone always looked as though they had places to be and people to see. They were always dressed in their very best clothing, and each woman seemed to be wearing a more brilliant bonnet than the last. Certainly, Claire had never seen so many people before in her life.

Her entire world had been the Ashwood parish, and it was fulfilling to learn that there was so much more to the world than just the little village main street.

She looked up at Jack when she heard him chuckling. He, indeed, looked just like the other gentlemen. Extraordinarily dapper in his form-fitting coat and matching top hat.

"What?"

"I like seeing this city through your eyes," he said with a smile. "What an extraordinary talent you have for seeing the good in anything ... and anyone."

After wandering through the beautiful park, or promenading, as Jack called it with a roll of his eyes, they found a nice area in which to sit and eat their delicious cut sandwiches. They both settled after eating, enjoying the privacy of some trees in order to lie back on the blanket and relax in the sunshine.

Claire watched as Jack pulled a book out of the picnic basket, and she wondered when he had snuck that in there. She spied the cover of the thick book and read Don Quixote. Jack seemed to tear through books, Claire noted. He never seemed to be able to sit. He preferred to read. He loved to read. It was evident on his face as he flipped open to wherever he had been last.

"Can I ask you something?" Claire wondered aloud.

Jack snapped the book shut immediately. "Of course," he said earnestly.

"What is it about reading that you enjoy so much?" she posed. Claire did want to become a better reader herself, only she'd never had the time to dedicate herself to finishing a novel.

Jack thought for a moment, before he smiled. "A book has the power to take you to a place far from where you are in reality. They are filled with adventure and conflict and romance, and anything is possible. Don Quixote, for example," Jack noted, holding up the book, "has gone mad, and believes himself a knight and endeavours to serve his country and put right all that is wrong. And while he may be mad, this book teaches me that be mad is to be right. Is a man who is dissatisfied with society, and empowered to do something about it, so wrong?"

Jack paused and sat up, twisting himself to face Claire, who in turn sat up as well.

"I have never been happy in my reality," he said quietly. "I would have gone quite mad myself without the solace of books. If I was reading, I was somewhere else, and not some place where I would let someone down."

As much as they had been talking this past week, Jack had not divulged his deepest demons to Claire. She didn't like to pry anything out of him, and they had been enjoying sharing what they had been comfortable to share.

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