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Kitty ... baby, I have to tell you something ... - Tom, gathering his willpower into a fist and fighting off Austin, who was about to jump into his arms, found the courage to start a difficult conversation from the threshold. Better he himself ... than the well-wishers report. Moreover, judging by the knitted eyebrows and the ragged rhythm beaten off by her nails on the tabletop, she already knows about it ... Lou did pass, jealous goat?! It is even strange that he does not meet, with his nose turned up and his entire reserve of contempt and superiority rolled out onto his face. Kit must have asked to be left alone… he himself would hardly have refused the pleasure of seeing his auto-da-fé*.

Looking at her while she looks at the damned photos, there is no strength. So Tom studies the patterns on her fluffy knitted socks. Good socks, warm… March is dank in Manchester. The socks are good. And he's an asshole. Maybe even an unmarried asshole. Free as a snot in flight. And no access to th