[ A mix of expressions flit over his face. Consternation, annoyance, resignation - culminating in a frown as he stares at the table. It's too damn hard to think of a gift every turn of the sun for someone. Doesn't one run out of ideas after a few years? ]
I suppose we are, [ he mutters. His interlaced fingers hang loosely over his lap, elbows propped by the arms of his chair. ] But I know he has other lovers. It is impossible for one person to satisfy his desires.
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I suppose we are, [ he mutters. His interlaced fingers hang loosely over his lap, elbows propped by the arms of his chair. ] But I know he has other lovers. It is impossible for one person to satisfy his desires.