There's just a hint of a pout when he lets her slip from his arms, but soon enough she's back and getting comfortable again. Then, with his head resting against the cushions, he loses himself in the sweet, soothing notes of her voice.

No, he doesn't recognize the passage. But as he peers at the headers on the pages, he sheepishly realizes that it's the book she'd given him. He can't remember getting further than the first chapter.

He might be lulled into a dreamy state, except a significant word or phrase might jump out at him, wedging itself between his thoughts (sometimes very much like grains of sand). Hope. Cheerfulness. Do something for himself.

And he's a little more awake for that. Listening, drawn both by what Twain says, and how Kate says it.