Midge passes him the cup of tea, then pours one for herself. Looks like her intuitions about his Britishness were right.

“Weeks?” Midge asks. “I can’t imagine.” She’d be miserable doing that, but that’s not the sort of life that she’s lived. Robert is used to it. As long as he doesn’t expect her to join him on such treks.

“You know, I usually feel safe in the city,” she continues. “Most of the clubs I perform at are in Midtown and I take taxis if it’s late at night instead of walking.” She’s also a true New Yorker. If anyone gives her shit, she’s going to give it right back to them. Hopefully there’s no need for a gun.