Charles rolls his eyes, and, shakes his head; then, shoots her a truly amicable grin, and, switches his crossed legs … resting his folded hands on top of his right knee … then, tells her, with a most, stereo-typical inflection being detected …

“Oh, honey; please … you don’t have to worry your sweet, pretty, little head over me.”

Snow immediately thinks … Okay; so we’ve gone from effeminate to ‘flaming (?)’? Totally at ease … almost strangely ecstatic, for some reason … Snow smiles from ear to ear. She starts to ask …

“So … you’re …” Snow can’t seem to bring herself to finish asking … so; Charles...