Being vexed, a sea

With each sentence the professor rambled on with, Jean's posture sank lower and lower with bashfulness, until he sat hunched on an ottoman. He pressed his hands into his face as if the pressure would give him the words. It will appear as too big a gift. The rapturous love of books seemed to carry the woman away in a long monologue of possibility, while Jean deflated at the avalanche of sparkles in her eye.

Then, when the tangential idea of donating them seized her, Jean eagerly considered it. He lifted, looking at her, possibilities smearing across his brow with their blend of hope and worry. At the University, absolutely anyone could find what he donated. It might get announced, drawing attention to his tastes. A very public move, but perhaps, no more public than burying them in the gardens. He knew how watched he was. 

That might work, donating them, Professor, he began, But there are about five or so that I'd prefer were not publicly associated with me for... reasons. He leaned forward with blushing doggedness, wringing his hands. I know Orlesian tastes would forgive me, but still. 

He thought of his most lascivious texts, and, then, he thought of Kieran, again. How had his dreams so suddenly become shadows? Each a dagger held at his back.