untamedantinous

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Today, Laertes has set aside all of his recently-acquired pursuits in search of stories. He's observed that his diction is out of joint with everyone else's here--even Claudius has been here long enough that he chooses his words in an easy, casual way that harmonizes with the speech of a Janet or a Nina or a Sagramore. Perhaps, if he makes a study of how authors and playwrights compose ordinary speech, Laertes will develop the same careless facility with language.

He nods to the blond man as he pokes through shelf after shelf of flimsy paper books, their covers depicting men and women caught in fraught erotic clinches. These, he discards immediately; surely the dialogue will be no more natural than the poses.