laika dogface
human
the future is coming on
Posts: 394
BigPic: http://i.imgbox.com/HJ3q84vg.png
Profile: /
Plotter: /
Tracker: /
Age: 00
Occupation: occupation
Homeland: homeland
Race: race here
Alignment: alignment here
Alias: rper
Music: https://dl.dropboxusercontent.com/u/101811149/scream.mp3
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Sept 27, 2015 16:24:05 GMT
Post by laika dogface on Sept 27, 2015 16:24:05 GMT
i don't wanna be your cigarette
i don't wanna to be your ashtray "You wished to see me, I understand?" he said.
"I am afraid your servant must have made a mistake," replied Trimble. "Actually, it was Mrs. Dixon we asked for."
"My wife? I don't understand. What conceivable interest can you have in my wife?"
"I should prefer to explain that to her personally."
Dixon and Trimble were much of a size. They faced each other across the little room with wary, appraising eyes, like two lightweight boxers just entering the ring. Dixon was pale, his chin thrust out aggressively, his hands buried in his coat pockets. It was obvious that he was prepared to take offense at the least provocation, and equally obvious from which direction he looked for the offense.
"You will not explain anything to my wife," he said sharply, "except in my presence." |  |
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laika dogface
human
the future is coming on
Posts: 394
BigPic: http://i.imgbox.com/HJ3q84vg.png
Profile: /
Plotter: /
Tracker: /
Age: 00
Occupation: occupation
Homeland: homeland
Race: race here
Alignment: alignment here
Alias: rper
Music: https://dl.dropboxusercontent.com/u/101811149/scream.mp3
|
Sept 27, 2015 16:28:23 GMT
Post by laika dogface on Sept 27, 2015 16:28:23 GMT
i don't wanna be your cigarette i don't wanna to be your ashtray "You wished to see me, I understand?" he said.
"I am afraid your servant must have made a mistake," replied Trimble. "Actually, it was Mrs. Dixon we asked for."
"My wife? I don't understand. What conceivable interest can you have in my wife?"
"I should prefer to explain that to her personally."
Dixon and Trimble were much of a size. They faced each other across the little room with wary, appraising eyes, like two lightweight boxers just entering the ring. Dixon was pale, his chin thrust out aggressively, his hands buried in his coat pockets. It was obvious that he was prepared to take offense at the least provocation, and equally obvious from which direction he looked for the offense.
"You will not explain anything to my wife," he said sharply, "except in my presence." |
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