|Cretins and mannequins|
“That was lovely, Victor. Thank you,” Violet said, as they stepped out of their garden hideaway and back onto the noisy, hot and unforgiving streets of the city.
“You’re welcome,” Victor said, casting a furtive glance at her and wondering about her subdued behavior. “Anything wrong?”
“No, not at all,” she replied looking up and him with a small smile.
“Wouldn’t be lying to me just now, would you?”
“Why would I bother? You can see right through me,” she retorted, laughing.
“Not through. You just have very expressive eyes and I think perhaps I just know you,” he said, watching for her reaction.
“Funny, you didn’t know me that first time we met and you read my mind perfectly, as I recall,” she said.
“You wear your thoughts on your face like some women wear clothes, obviously for attention,” he said. He smiled as her face registered her confusion as she tried to figure out what that meant. “You do it unconsciously, of course.”
She opened her mouth, but didn’t get a chance to speak. Someone in the crowd called to them, a foul-mouthed cretin, by all accounts.