[What is shame, Lorenz? Hilda doesn't know her? Or: Hilda watches yet another person bid on her pal before shifting her attention down to her champagne glass, demurely lowering her lashes as she does so. She is the very picture of innocence, Lorenz. Small and cute and harmless.]

Very interesting, [she agrees, tilting her glass this way and that was just to watch that strawberry bob about the bubbly.] Maybe you turned it in on your own? We both had a lot to drink that night... my memories are a liiiittle hazy.

[Oh, boxed wine! How they love thee.]

Or maybe someone realized that your poem was very good and turned it in for you? How nice of them.

[This is probably when Sylvain steps up to bid? Hilda is going to choke right here, right now.]