Hang on, stitching together your page...
She frowned at him as at a noxious fug.
I must of course ask after Swyn, your father.
Her shoulders lifted in discarding shrug.
I think you’re well aware he’s just a bother.
Well that description’s ineffectual! Her father’s name I think you recognize: distinguished arach intellectual, my mentor, and a man I idolize.
And my own father’s scornful opposition to arach and to scholarly preparement puts Swyn (to me) above him in position and substitutes him as a better parent.
From Marisand, then, Aeronwy slipped free.
He froze a moment and this made me smirk,
in brief tableau his bow was low to me.
He straightened with an irritated jerk.