Still Wittkower ignored all and the responders parted about him and the lady he spoke with. Her genteel clothes didn’t belong here. Jacket, bustle, skirts. All screamed breeding. This was a place of poverty.
I hated sullen days, and this trip had seen its share, but we were winding our way down the switchbacks to Dweranad.
The woman just grinned at her, head tilted and eyes wide. Almost as disquieting as the glitters drifting lazily around her. “Because it’s a ball, my dear!” Her voice broke with enthusiasm.
This will close in 0 seconds
