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Brid stands in the kitchen, frowning

NTS: What’s wrong?

Brid: We don’t have any brandy. I’m standing here looking all mysterious in my smoking jacket, ready to settle in for a night at home. I don’t smoke, so brandy is the next best option. And I haven’t bought any yet.

NTS looks. Thinks for a minute. You haven’t even got to that part yet, have you?

Brid: blank stare

NTS: I’ll take that as a no. You’re really going to enjoy the book you’re reading.

From which I am forced to assume that a large portion of the book I’m reading–New Amsterdam, a steampunk/paranormal novel that NTS has already finished and I have just started–is played out by dapper steampunk characters in sharp dressing gowns, drinking brandy. Or not drinking it, unless their valets have gone to the liquor store more recently than I. It appears that life imitates art, whether I’ve read it yet or not.

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