And then she straightens all at once, and her face takes on such a broad look of enthusiasm that it might almost be considered mugging if not for the very genuine sincerity in the thing.
"Oh! You must be Madame Margaery!" She immediately abandons the table and closes the distance in a flurry of skirts. With all the battering force of a hurricane, she takes immediate possession of both of Margaery's hands in one of her own. "It is such a pleasure to make your acquaintance in person. It was not too difficult, I hope? To locate the office, I mean. The Gallows is so dreadfully uniform. It is so difficult to tell where you have been compared to where you have not."
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It is a rather chirping, some might say somewhat irritatingly pitched, voice which calls through the door. And beyond it, Madame de Foncé is indeed rather like the voice of the words in her letters. She is neither especially tall, nor especially short, and for a moment as she is bent over the pages of her notes on one of the office's work tables de Foncé might be easily taken as a perfectly good looking and not at all offensive young lady even if here at the end of a long day some of her goldish hair has started to come loose from the knot of her bun.
And then she straightens all at once, and her face takes on such a broad look of enthusiasm that it might almost be considered mugging if not for the very genuine sincerity in the thing.
"Oh! You must be Madame Margaery!" She immediately abandons the table and closes the distance in a flurry of skirts. With all the battering force of a hurricane, she takes immediate possession of both of Margaery's hands in one of her own. "It is such a pleasure to make your acquaintance in person. It was not too difficult, I hope? To locate the office, I mean. The Gallows is so dreadfully uniform. It is so difficult to tell where you have been compared to where you have not."