He had barely settled at his desk in his library, when he was disturbed by two morning callers. “Is that so? Who says?” He demanded, his eyebrows arching as he looked at her with puerile glee. It wasn’t. ‘The credentials, milor’,’ he ventured. “A nice time of anxiety you’ve given me, young lady,” he said, as he entered the room. Mrs. It engulfed them in black, white, and gray. She seemed to grow more beautiful to him and not the opposite. Her white shirt was ridiculously utilitarian, but fitted in all the right places, he smirked. One has to train one’s self not to.
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