So, this is sliding along nicely. Blood has been spilt, secrets sown and backstory partly shared. It's light but fun.
Meanwhile, the cranky old guy I'm trying not to listen to insists on pointing out inconsistencies in the narrator's tone (he uses that kind of language). "How," he askes with a gleam that he will not admit is spiteful pleasure in his eye, "can this twenty-something American narrator use this archaic form of words :
'Fearing he would harm himself further if he woke to find himself surrounded by strangers, we had decided to keep him here until he woke up.'
and a little later start sounding like a teen when talking about her best friend:
'Claire had the biggest heart I had ever seen. Simply put, she was the bestest.'
I mean, 'bestest'? Seriously? It's not even teen, it's faux teen."
I tell him to let it go, relax and enjoy the show.
He mutters something about standards being important and that the show he's enjoying is just not the same as the ojne I'm enjoying.
Then we both settle down and read some more.