"Hn," Crowley says peaceably, sideways gaze trained steadily on Raguel. A beat, and he looks back out towards the sun. "Well, far be it from me to discourage that."

He sounds curiously sincere - moved to a more than usually mellow candour by the heat, by the sudden heady dose of it after the wet and cold of London winter.

(He's smiling, just a little, and at nothing in particular.)