At least her eyes she is used to thinking of as distinctive; she was named for her eyes, Circe referring to hawk. But Circe is not used to attention, or small talk, or people warmly smiling at her, or honestly even having amiable conversations in stores. This is all new enough that she tries to conceal her discomfort with a natural sort of confidence that is only half-true.

She doesn't quite catch the capital on Talent, but it translates well enough. "Many with power are miserly with it," she agrees. "I have always felt that witches, as we are all called in my time, should have a kinship with one another. But that appears to be an opinion shared by few."

Well, she seems to have found one way to make income that she doesn't mind, provided he isn't about to do anything awful with it. Circe has become jaded in her old age, she reflects sourly.