People are strange. Julian falls into a particular category that Credence has only met here: unusually comfortable. Perhaps it's because he's not from New York, because no self-respecting Brooklynite would trust anyone long enough to doze off in a chair with people they barely know. He files Julian into the Long Island category in his head: trusting, unafraid. Still a chance of being tough, but the exterior is soft enough that Credence finds it easy to imagine him in a big, rich house with lots of light and expensive art.

His accent is anything but New York, but since New York is all Credence knows, he keeps with the comparison. He does, however, take a small step forward. Curiousity has been getting the better of him lately: there are more arrivals, there are more people in the village, now more than ever. It's comforting and alarming at the same time. He keeps his hands at his side, fists tight, and speaks carefully:

"Are you from London, sir?"