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" "That's but a short distance from here, sir. Sensing his discomfort, she stood up and brushed lint off of the hem of her gray miniskirt. ‘No, I don’t see much future in pursuing her down this passage. “I’ve never been prone to them. It’s not you—not a bit. The call of youth to youth, and we name it love for want of something better: a glamorous, evanescent thing "like snow upon the desert's dusty face, lighting a little hour or two, was gone. E. Stay me with flagons, comfort me with apples, for I am sick of love.
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