Chapter 13“He was sullen but beautiful.” Dom played softly as he told the tale. “Dark eyes. Dark hair and a faccia like a baby, like a whisker wouldn’t grow there if he begged it to.”
Warwick had been shaving daily since he was twenty-two. Whiskers would have grown. “You saw all that?” he asked.
“I did, Warwick. My vision wasn’t twenty-twenty, but it wasn’t half bad. Nowhere near how far gone it is now, just a couple years later. And we don’t put the audience in the dark, like they do in a play.”
“Right.”
“He was really tall, like you, but slouching, like he felt awkward about standing out in a crowd, or maybe he was being considerate and didn’t want to block the view of the stage for the person sitting behind him in row C. You would do that, I bet.”
Warwick didn’t know a piano could
