"No, I suppose I haven't," she says, leaning back against the couch as she watches him work, the table--and it was the coffee table, she realizes now, not the dresser--coming together bit by bit. "Not that there was much chance to, with...well, last month being what it was." Rosie doesn't elaborate, knowing she doesn't need to. If anyone could understand what she meant, it's Nick.

"There's not much interesting to say about home, it's just..." Rosie laughs a little. "Just Oxford, just rain, and school, and running errands for Mummy, and everything else I was used to for fifteen years." She looks over at him, thinking, weighing what more to say. "But Oxford isn't where I was right before this. It'll sound strange, I know, but Darrow's not the first time I wound up in a different world."