I see. So he simply...waits, in your presence, contingent on anything that might happen.

[It could almost be cute, in theory, if it weren't for the fact that the reality is so horrifying. But at least the vines have retreated, which means he and Rosalind can spread out a little, not to untangle but to enjoy each other's presence more leisurely.]

Well, I suppose I shall have to get used to him. And I approve of his goals, of course — no doubt about that.