Painted Pearls
Deliberately, she slid her gloved hands into her pockets, the corners of her lips lifted upwards as she rolled the few stolen peas between her fingers.
It was as they finally made their way to the stalls where the birds were kept, their stench strong in the close avenue that Liziwe stopped dead in her tracks, reaching again for Susan's support. "What is it? Mistress? What is wrong?" Concern peppered Susan's words, but she heard them not at all. For there, speaking with the vendor was a tall man, his tousled hair, his profile long and Byronic.
"Fine birds, excellent birds," remarked the man unreservedly, clapping his hands together. "Where did you get them?"
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