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Edward Rutledge let his eyes wander; It was much too hot to do actual work.

Thomson was reading another one of Washington's dispatches-dull! John

Hancock still wasn't making eye contact with him, and he didn't have to guess why.

Nearby, Benjamin Franklin was happily chatting away with his favorite Delawarean

Caesar Rodney. Next to them sat John Dickinson, who seemed to me avoiding an

incoming conversation with Richard Henry Lee (situated directly behind him).

Dickinson turned his head towards Rutledge with a small sigh. His piercing

eyes made their way up the southerner's form, taking in every last drop. Their eyes

mad contact from across the room and Dickinson's face broke out into a grin. A real

smile. Not the type he gave at dinners, speeches, and those other formal events he

was so well known for. Not the sly smirk he would give to John Adams each morning.

A real and honest smile for the young man he found so...interesting.

"Mister Dickinson?" Hancock repeated.

"Oh..uh..yes, sir?" answered the startled delegate.

"Mister Dickinson, I have been trying to ask you a question."

"Well then, go ahead sir," was the curt reply.

Rutledge began to tune out as Hancock and Dickinson continued their conversation

about congressional committees (or some similar, and equally dull business). He surveyed the

chamber again, this time taking notice of the corners where Massachusetts table sat, or

more importantly: Mr. John Adams. Adams had been staring intently at the window, but when

he felt that someone was looking at him he began to openly glare at Rutledge.

If looks could kill, Neddy thought, as he glanced towards the window he seemed so fond of.

He then realized why. The only thing to see there was Thomas Jefferson. Or, more accurately, the

backside of Thomas Jefferson (if you were looking from from Adams' angle).

Rutledge couldn't help but give a knowing smirk.