“Why shouldn’t one face the facts of one’s self?” She stood up. “You seem to forget that my sister is—married. His red hair marked him, cut short into a round shape that had the texture of a Brillo pad. Listen to me, Thames. Before a year has expired, you will share the same fate. ” She said quietly. “Go down and rescue the rags of my reputation,” she said, smiling. He blushed furiously; it was not what he had expected to hear. Rain started to pummel the roof of the pavilion, which coalesced into sheets and rumbled to the cement below. His breath grew shallower as he approached the room, conscious of the loudness of his hallway-reverberated footfalls. Creative work appeals to me wonderfully.
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