The Wastrel—as we call him—cannot play when he's sober; hands too shaky. It was as if her finite human brain could only store a limit of information, details like hair color and fingernail shape easily jettisoned to make room for the nuances of a grin or the emotion of a shoulder blade. A faint gleam of returning colour gave her at once a more natural appearance. It was easy to imagine great power in such a man. How does one get work? She walked along the Strand and across Trafalgar Square, and by the Haymarket to Piccadilly, and so through dignified squares and palatial alleys to Oxford Street; and her mind was divided between a speculative treatment of employment on the one hand, and breezes—zephyr breezes—of the keenest appreciation for London, on the other.
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This video was uploaded to suzume-news.club on 24-09-2024 12:39:41