Mischief bubbled up in her. “See that man?” Sebastian would tap her on the shoulder on a crowded alleyway and say, “See how he lingers too long when he touches that little child? The glow in his eyes? That is lustful intent, my dear. She looked directly at his face, his perpetually graying hair, his hawkish nose, his long cheekbones. It never seems to enter their heads to try and amuse their menkind. Old London Bridge. She’s naïve, and yet uncannily shrewd at times, and you daren’t rely on anything she says.
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