“I hear Mattie Devore can be quite a dear,” he said—heah, Devoah, deah—and one of his crusty eyelids drooped. I have seen a fair number of salacious winks in my time, but none that was a patch on the one tipped me by that old man with the gold-headed cane. I felt a strong urge to knock his waxy beak of a nose off. The sound of it parting company from his face would be like the crack of a dead branch broken over a bent knee.
Source: Bag of Bones ▫𓂃
(echo:: @ ⌗)