poor delicate tiny scholarbaby

The morning mist has burned away this Saturday, and the cobblestone streets glisten with dew in Goldkrone. People mill around, getting ready for the day and greeting one another. There are no cars on the streets, but the occasional horse is put to use. Autor leads Oswin through a door near his school from Milliways.

"[Remember,]" he says in French, "[I've told my mother you're coming, so try to... I don't know, act natural? But not too natural. I don't want her scandalized.]"