... having been breathed out

It wasn't like the guy had exploded at her or anything. He'd actually been pretty nice about the whole deal. But it'd been obvious he was disappointed; and frankly, Eleanor thought, to kind of an unreasonable extent. Plainly, when Bambadjan had heard the word "soulmate," he'd expected someone who shared his passion for small nocturnal flying rodents: for reading about them; for identifying them; for spending the entire night observing them in silence with the help of night-vision goggles, as his later note informed her he was doing himself. Just as plainly, Eleanor's inability to deliver on that promise was a blow. All things considered the timing hadn't seemed great for springing on him the news that in addition to her lack of bat-related knowledge she was also a vast cosmic mistake who should probably be burning in acid fire or having her appendix plucked out by ferrets or something instead of perching awkwardly on this sofa, drinking a passable if milky iced vanilla latte. Probably the real Eleanor loved bats; would provide all the bat-related camaraderie he could want. Probably this thought would occur to Bambadjan, too.