"You do," she says, turning her head to look at Eponine for a moment as they walk. "People think what they will, or assume what they do, but you're still you underneath it all. Unexciting as that person might be."

Rosie thinks about Anterwold, of being treated as a grand lady or honored guest when she'd known the truth of her presence there was something more accidental. It had felt as though the space she'd inhabited had already been carved out, that all she'd needed to do was step into it and let everything happen as it would. Given what she knew Anterwold to be, perhaps it had been; something sketched out by the Professor during an afternoon at the pub with his friends.

Not that she wanted to dwell on the implications of that for longer than necessary.