“How much does he drink when he is with you at Lapis Lazuli?” “Are you angry with him?” “I am worried.” “Worried for Pierce?” Islington picked up the pen on his desk with his right hand, tapping it absently. “Pierce,”—tap, tap, tap—“for one.” When he looked back at me, I understood it was I who remained the unspoken second.
reason 8492 why i love Henry
Kaci Saunders liked this
