snippeting Ralph/Alec w.i.p

Deacon’s mobile, sensitive face, lifted to the light, was flushed with anger. “Ralph Lanyon, is it? I thought it was Abel Ross.”
“Was it? I can’t remember, pseudonyms weren’t occupying a significant portion of my mind just then. Though I’ve something of a right to use Ross.”
“You lied to me.” Lord, how young is he? Not nearly enough to be naive about this sort of thing.
“You ought to learn doing the same yourself,” Ralph reproved. “Anyone would think you wanted to be black-mailed, my dear.”
“It’s beyond me how you can presume to lecture,” Deacon hissed, which was at least better than the alternatives. “I’ve met your father, do you know?”
“Have you? How’s the old man, haven’t met him myself in years.”