“But I hope she is. For you are lovely, Hawkes.” Again, only the slightest ripple of a response. “She is,” he replied in all sincerity, like a string of white clouds in a blue sky. I nodded. “How wonderful for you.” He looked right at me. Smiled. His bearing shifted. And I could see—I knew—Hawkes was about to perform one of his disappearing acts—the kind where he would simply walk away. I decided it was my turn to make a premature exit. “Well sorted, Hawkes.” I clapped my hands together. “Good afternoon.” And I strode (yes, strode) out onto Whereabouts. Before I could take three steps up the
...more
HIS STARING I CANT
